Days With Bernard Shaw

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

\

FROM A PENCIL SKETCH BY CLARE WINSTEN

Days with

BERNARD SHAW

b

STEPHEN WINSTEN

With twenty plates
and a frontispiece

LONDON 1951

READERS UNION • HUTCHINSON

Also written or edited by
S. Winsten

G.B.S. 90

THE QUINTESSENCE OF G.B.S.

shortly to be published

SALT AND HIS CIRCLE

(u ith an introduction by
Bernard Shaw)

SHAW’S CORNER

(a sequel to

_ ‘Days with Bernard Short)

sale to its members only. Particulars of RU arc obtainable from
Readers Union Ltd at 38, William IV Street , in the City of
Westminster and at Letcbwortb Garden City , Hertfordshire. This
edition has been reset in 11 point Garamond type one point leaded ,
printed and bound by C. Tinting dr Co. Ltd , Prescot , Lancs. The
photogravure illustrations were printed by Sun Printers Ltd, II atford,
Herts. The book, was first published by Hutchinson dr Co.

{Publishers) Ltd.

THEY SAID

That it is most unwise to take him seriously or to
contradict him

that be wants to be taken seriously and enjoys a good argument

that he is arrogant and conceited
that he is modest and gentle

that he is obsessed with money and cares only for the
rich

that he is a saint and has the same regard for all people

that he is surrounded by parasites and flatterers
that he numbers the wisest among his friends

that he regards artists as rogues and vagabonds
that he thinks of God as an artist

that he will say and write anything to irritate and amuse
that he uses the platform and theatre to express his convictions

that he is an atheist

that he is a mystic and is profoundly religious

that he is extremely unconventional and anarchic
that he is a very respectable . citizen

that he is ungenerous and miserly
that he gives without stint

that he is completely uneducated
that he knows everything

that he is unprincipled

that he has remained amazingly consistent in his principles

that he has never known what it is to be young
that he is young at ninety b

that he doesn’t count

that he is the most influential person alive

that to know him is to be disillusioned
that to blow him is to be inspired

that he will soon be forgotten when he dies
that he is immortal

They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead.

They brought me bitter news to hear, and bitter tears to shed.

I wept as l remembered how often you and I

Had tired the Sun with talking, and sent him down the sky.

And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,

A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest,

Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake;

For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

WILLIAM CORY

SHAW IS DEAD

This book was written while George Bernard Shaw was alive.
Many people had been pressing me to share my unique experience
with them, and G.B.S. himself, when discussing the other bio¬
graphers, would often say: ‘You, Inca, are the one to write about
me. Why don’t you?’ For many years I desisted because I did not
want to take advantage of a peculiar friendship. Though we
disagreed about certain things we had, however, very much in
common, and I did not like the feeling, almost a superstition,
that print might break this intimacy. Then something unexpected
happened, the spell was broken and I was free to write.

We were often interrupted by the loud rat-tat which announced
that Shaw had come to spend the afternoon with us, sitting by
the fireside talking freely, bursting into declamation or song,
away from his household, away from unwelcome visitors. On his
birthdays, especially, he avoided inquisitive crowds by sitting
with us. It was good for his soul to take ofi the mask for a few
hours every day.

Clare and I always accompanied him up the lane to his gate,
because his legs, as he put it, were apt to let him down. Our pets
were fully conscious of their responsibility. When we walked
together our Scottie led the way, tail erect, while Fuzzy, our
tortoise-shell cat, followed in the rear, holding up her bushy tail
as a warning to traffic. Any approach of a stranger meant an
immediate change in the manner of G.B.S. On went the mask
and we lost the G.B.S. of our fireside.

When Days With Bernard Shaw was published and I handed
him the first copy, he blushed like an adolescent; he loved it
Whenever I called on him I would find the book beside him. He
was at once eager to help. The book must have a large sale ‘If I
praise it they will say that I had a hand in the writing and it
would not be fair to you. I must think out something.’ I assured
him the book was going well and it was not necessary for him to
worry; in tact The Times Literary Supplement had devoted that

e l dC / t0 lf ‘ , Th Ji mentlon of The Times made his
finger ,tch w.th des.re. Th' Tims' he said, ‘is bought because

I 1 ' wrote T one of Us best lett «s the following week
nuschievous. I was mightily amused. The public Shaw

* , « VT sorr ^. as alwa 7 s . after the event, he came round
and suggested a crush.ng answer. I brushed this aside and wrote

my own. After this I went over the book most carefully with him
and he was most apologetic. But what did the public Shaw
matter to us? It was G.B.S. without the mask who was our friend
and who needed us. He wrote to us when we went away for a
few weeks: \ . . Come back. I have nobody to talk to.’

G.B.S. is no more. While there is fussing over his body, on
his death-day, as on his birthday he has escaped from the babble
and the noise. ‘It’s time the masks were burnt,’ we can hear him
saying, ‘I’ve had enough of them.’

STEPHEN WINSTEN

Chapter i

WE LIVED IN AYOT FOR MONTHS BEFORE HE CALLED ON US.
I knew him sauntering along the lane in that queer Norfolk
suit of his, tweed cap well over his forehead, tipped rakishly
to display one eyebrow, swinging his stick round and round
in the air, not bad for a man in the eighties. I had seen him
on a stile with a chorus of birds overhead, squirrels running
up the tree behind him and I passed softly by, glad that he
was at home in this world; and I had seen him merging into
the haze of the lime grove, his old green Irish cape slung over
that long frame of his in the manner of Tolstoy, and I had
seen him standing in the snow in a long white raincoat
eagerly taking snaps of the demolished abbey, and I thought
he has been here thirty years and he still finds everything ex¬
citing and new. I knew the tip-tapping of his stick against the
gravel path as well as I knew the laugh of the green wood¬
pecker. All this time I knew him as I wanted to know him.

One day he came walking up the path.

'Anyone in?’ he shouted.

He left his embroidered gloves, his wideawake hat and
stick at the entrance and settled himself comfortably and bolt
upright in the settee, arms folded and long legs crossed, and
started his conversation as if we had been conversing for
years. Perhaps we had. My wife smiled as he became more
and more at home, swinging one foot, stressing his speech
with forefinger, telling us the things we knew, the whole
world knew about him, for had he not built up for the last
fifty years a very clear picture of himself? Everybody knows
everything about George Bernard Shaw: what he wears
what he eats, what he thinks and what he looks like. Never

9

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

has there been a man more publicized in this era of easy pub¬
licity. I caught Clare’s smile and understood. Twenty years
back she had asked him to sit for her for a portrait and his
answer was in the strain of Eliza Doolittle. She had said then:
'One day he will come to me! ’

'Have you noticed,’ he asked us, ’that there is an aura
about Ayot Saint Lawrence, a certain stillness, a silence about
the place?’ That is just the thing that attracted us towards
it, we told him. The village seemed to have stood still for the
last five hundred years. He brushed this idea aside and said:

'My house is not very old, a commonplace Victorian rec¬
tory, redeemed by plenty of window space. They were only
too glad to give it over to a heretic like myself. I had a garage
built of course to house my cars and for that I got Barry
Parker, the Letchworth architect, to design a thoroughly
modern and up-to-date place, functional in fact.’

Yes, I knew that garage. It certainly was functional and
seemed a thing apart in that narrow winding lane with a
neighbour of a wooden farmhouse, with cows and horses and
pigs.

'You see,’ he went on, 'I have a Rolls-Royce and another
car and they must have proper housing. Have you noticed that
it has been the way for the last twenty years to build garages
instead of nurseries?’

We offered him some apple juice but he refused. He ex¬
plained that he ate and drank nothing between lunch at 1.15

and the evening meal at 7.30.

’Besides,’ he said, 'I find that a meal gets in the way of soci¬
ability. One can’t talk when one eats.’ Then he recalled his
Italian travel and burst into song, head thrown back and beat¬
ing time dramatically with one hand. At precisely ten minutes
to six he took out his large gold watch, begged forgiveness,

explaining that he must return to his wife.

’I daren’t be late. We always listen to the six o’clock news
together.’ He said this almost humbly and his voice softened.
He collected his gloves and hat from my hands, caretuiiy

10

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

dressed and strode away with head in the air, neither turning
to right nor left. He left us with the impression of an ex¬
tremely happy and self-satisfied man, virile and proud, carry¬
ing the heavy years very lightly indeed.

We were very busy folk with a thousand interests. England
was fighting at the moment with everything against her ex¬
cept the knowledge that she would come through. The future
was living and dying from minute to minute. But in Ayot
Saint Lawrence it was peace, an island of quiet; the nearest
useful railway station was six miles away, there were no
buses, and petrol restrictions made a car immobile. Only a
fool like myself could think of living here when it was im¬
perative that I should be in London, in the very centre of
things, at an early hour. It meant a long walk in the darkness
of winter mornings and evenings, often in snow and rain, but
it also meant meeting the sunrise and the early dawn choir. I
had the winding lanes to myself and by the time I reached
tired London I felt I had lived a whole lifetime. Then
the journey home, hidden behind a newspaper, each pas¬
senger behind the ghastly headlines and not a word between
us.

Back into this island of quiet. Which was the real life

I often asked myself? Was Ayot Saint Lawrence but a
dream?

The rector was a thin man with drawn ascetic face. It was a
warm spring day but he had a huge muffler round his neck in
the manner of the undergraduate and a balaclava round his
head. He came to talk about the church but found himself
talking about everything else; the ornate building with its
Doric columns and green copper roof, transplanted as it were
from a provincial town into a corner of the park, was as re¬
mote from our conversation as it was from the village. He
talked to us about his wife who had recently passed away
bhe was a sweet woman of French origin and a great lover of
owers and children. He and she had come from a slum

11

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

parish and regarded this living as a reward and a consumma¬
tion. But peace did not come to them in their old age. The
war brought many evacuated children into their home and the
work naturally fell on the willing hand. She tended the chil¬
dren and she tended the flowers until she herself needed tend¬
ing. Such was the story he told us, lovingly and without
regret. The world was at war and he was glad that they, even
in their old age, could offer their lives. To him practice and
precept were one.

The bells in those days could not call the people to church,
for they were now meant to sound only as a warning of immi¬
nent invasion. He was always the first to walk along the long
gravel path leading to the church, hands behind his back and
head bowed, to be followed by two or three who made up the
congregation. After the service he generally called in and
talked over a cup of coffee.

It was quite a long time before the name of Bernard Shaw
was even mentioned and we put it down to the fact that he
must have considered his oldest parishioner an atheist.

T always enjoy a chat with the old man,’ he said one day.
'You see he’s met so many interesting people. You know he s
met Brad laugh and I had the greatest respect for that doughty
fighter.’

'Even though he was an atheist?’ I asked with a smile.

'It’s always good to have a strong opposition. God strength¬
ened His cause by creating a strong opposition. When you
think of it, it is the atheists who feel passionately about reli¬
gion and therefore you can argue with them.’

'So the devil was really God's device for propaganda pur-

DOSCS ? *

'Have you noticed that all people who do God’s work are
called servants of the devil some time or other? Look at
Shelley and Shaw. The whole history of the human race is
made up of passionate hatred and persecution of its prophets.
I was only reading the other day that Shelley was called the
darkest of fiends clothed with a human body to enable him to

12

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

gratify his enmity against the human race! I, of course, per¬
sonally regard him as one of our greatest religious teachers
and would read his poetry in church along with the poetry of
the Bible

'What would you do if you turned up and found Shaw
sitting in the church? The only worshipper perhaps?' f
asked.

'I would go on as usual with the beautiful service. In the
eyes of the Lord he is as all others. God does not know people
by their reputation or wealth.’

'So what would you say He makes of the crowd at West¬
minster?’

He laughed for the first time. Then he answered:

I know you don't mean the politicians. I think He has a
special regard for the Poet’s Corner. I am Victorian enough to
read a little poetry every day, the more familiar the better But
to get back to Bernard Shaw, I find him quite a gentleman
and deeply interested in theology. Now I am not in the least
interested in theology, you know.’

When I was a child I was taken to hear Bernard Shaw
preach at the City Temple,’ I recalled.

'Oh, it must have been very impressive, that tall bearded
figure.

Jes, it was in the days of R. J. Campbell.’

I knew Campbell very well,' the rector mused. 'Though he
was congregational he was my ideal of a clergyman. In a way
he inspired me, he and Lansbury. I shall never forget a meet¬
ing I attended where both W. B. Yeats and R. J. Campbell
where on the platform. Yeats read his poetry and Campbell
presided. 1 thought I lived in the Greek days as I saw them
side by side They were the handsomest men I had ever known

You see what was so pleasant about them was that they wore
no beards. 7

^ thought you said that a beard made a person impressive’’

The rector nodded. Impressive, yes. But it's a personal pre¬
judice of mine; I can never get myself to fully trust bearded

13

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

people even though I was brought up amongst bearded folk
and the intellectuals of my time cultivated attractive beards.
Browning, Tennyson, Carlyle, Watts, William Morris.’

'Surely you have no doubts about William Morris?’ I asked,
and added : 'Can you imagine any of them without a beard?
Of course, Shaw was born with a white beard.’

He laughed. 'I suppose that’s how most people know him. I
knew him as a dark infuriating figure ... talking to crowds at
the Docks. Most people have forgotten that Shaw and now
only know him as the gentlemanly white-bearded philosopher.
He has age on his side. While most people lose in some way or
other by getting old he has turned it to his advantage as he
turns everything to his advantage.’

'But you have never succeeded in getting him to come to
church?’ I insisted.

'Once he took the Sunday school. I shall never forget the
way he spoke above the heads of the poor village children, get¬
ting involved in economics and biology and pushing the life
force. The children listened very politely as only children can.’

'I suppose they were thrilled, knowing who he was?’

'They knew nothing about him except that he was a rich
man with a car. Considering that he could fill the Albert Hall
it was good of him to talk to half a dozen children and tell
them that the world was larger than this village ... and that if
they wanted to know more they should read books like Pil¬
grim’s Progress. He read a page to them, of course, and made

them laugh, for he’s a bom actor, you know.’

Now I look back I remember that the rector asked me noth¬
ing about myself and that he took me for granted as one does

a brother. .,

Next time he came with a barrowful of rare plants. He sai

that his wife would have brought them herself if she were
alive. Every day he would walk to his wife’s grave with a
handful of simple flowers and come away refreshed. He
begged me to come with him collecting kindling in the park
and in the wood behind the church.

14

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

It was a long time before Bernard Shaw called again. This
time he assumed the avuncular role. He wanted to know what
we all did, called us by our Christian names and even by our
nicknames. He told us that he disliked the name George and
it was obvious we were not to use that appellation for him.

’The name George has a bad sound,’ he said, 'I don’t like it.
I have tried to discard it long ago. I’ve taken the liberty even
of putting it in brackets in Who’s Who. You see I am known
everywhere as George Bernard Shaw and I can’t leave it out
because people might not know the significance of the initials
G.B.S. And then I do not wish to be confused with the women
novelists who disguise their femininity by assuming what they
think is the most masculine Christian name: George Eliot and
George Sand. H. G. Wells was never known as George.’

. I c ^°" t Christian names matter in the least. Look

at Shelleys Christian names. And wasn’t Meredith a
George?

° h , people survive in spite of their names, you know. Sam
Johnson ,s hardly a name for a great writer/ It took me some
time to realize that he was not alluding to a boxer but to the
revered Doctor Samuel Johnson.

b " “ c “

Though we had made up our minds not to get involved in

Stn b a ?' rS T C ° Uld n0t hd P noticin g that ^e young
children had no play centre. Of course they had the whole

hune t h 7” in ’ bUt that eXaCtl P was *e difficulty. They
hung about the lanes, staring or kicking anything kickable and

Mte f 1r d . e,r 8 reatest achievement taking off the iron

It t m n aW t 5 e T nCe and de P° sitin g i( in a distant ditch.

them no 7 T 7“ ** education a ‘ sc hool gave
ffiem no way of spending their leisure hours satisfactorily

Since we found haven in this village we felt that we must con-

ute something to the children’s welfare. We felt however

that we should ask one or two other people to shire in this

and approached George Bernard Shaw. We told him that

15

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

we were willing to take upon ourselves the major portion of
the expense and trouble but would be happy if he also con¬
tributed something. This brought him immediately to our
doorstep.

'This little bit of England, like everything beautiful, is made
up of every conceivable vice. Rape, murder, treachery, are just
commonplace occurrences.’ Changing his voice from anger to
encouragement, he added, 'However, it is not for me to dis¬
courage civic enterprise but you mustn’t expect a penny from
me. You see I have been reduced to penury by the heavy tax¬
ation and if it were not for the insurance gained through the
bombing of my books I would never have been able to pay my
supertax.’

He elaborated this theme with fact and figure and more or
less proved that he was paying for the war. He said:

'I make a fortune from running down the policy of the
Government and then hand it over, but for a few pence for
current expenses, to the Government to keep it going.’

Then he dropped the subject by asking me what I thought
of Ayot. I told him that I found the place always beautiful
and gave him a description of my early morning walks and the
return in the evening sunsets. He listened attentively and again

referred to the aura of the place.

"When Charlotte and I came to this village from over the
hill we rented this house from the previous rector because it
was too large and expensive for him and his wife to run. She
was a poetess and the housework ran away with her inspira¬
tion. We stayed a short while and so many of our things accu¬
mulated here that to avoid a removal we found it cheaper to
buy the house. Mind you, we went into it pretty fully before
we took the plunge. Charlotte and I found that so many people
lived to a ripe old age here that eighty was considered young,
which is, of course, the sensible attitude-to life.*

'In spite of the rape, murder and what not?’ I teased.

•As we were very rich, the wife of the lord of the manor
tried hard to lure us into the hectic social life here. I explained

16

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

that I did not hunt, I did not shoot, I did not play cards, I did
not play golf and I did not drink; in fact that I was a barbar¬
ian and futile. ' Then what on earth do you do with your¬
self? she asked me. I told her that I had to fill up my time
somehow and so I write plays. "That’s your work,” she
explained, but how do you amuse yourself?" I had to explain
that I never amuse myself. I have to amuse others and that
wants some doing. She had to accept me as hopelessly useless
to society and I must say she left us both to ourselves.’

He thought it necessary to explain that they lived in the
village because he liked it and that Charlotte preferred White¬
hall Court.

'You see, Charlotte has always objected to the village and
only lived here for my sake. She married me because she
thought me a genius. When all that money was left to her she
looked round for a useful object. Beatrice Webb intended her
to marry Graham Wallas but I got in first. By the time I
married her I had already made two thousand pounds, so was
economically independent. Now I am as wealthy as she is By
the way you mustn't think I don’t do anything for the village
When we first came here the squire’s wife induced me to give
something at Christmas time. Charlotte and I decided that
ever)' Christmas the children should have a shilling with which
to buy sweets for themselves. To make sure that their mothers
didn t get hold of the money we arranged for the children to
call personally at the house for their shilling apiece. And
sometimes as many as ten come to the back door.’

'So you do celebrate Christmas,’ I said.

The plea of penury was not very convincing and he made a
point of coming again soon after because he was obviously
worried. The last thing in the world that we wanted to do was
to worry him. In the most friendly manner he wished to know
our views on the way children should be brought up because
he liked the way we all lived together.

■I notice,’ he said, ’that yonr children call you by your
hnstian names. This is the first time I have come across tin's.

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

My visit to George Meredith was spoilt by the presence of his
children. I went to his house full of respect and left full of
pity. I myself called my father papa. I couldn’t think of calling
my mother Lucinda Elizabeth, which was her name. I was
called Sonny until I was a young man and then I had to rebel,
but like all rebellions it proved a turn for the worse, because
they called me George after that! Not that they cared very
much as to what I felt or what happened to me. I was allowed
to roam about and instead of hanging about the streets I was
led, a solitary wanderer, in enchanting scenery to the magic of
which I was very susceptible. What saved me was my passion
for the arts. Ten years ago I visited a Russian penal settle¬
ment and was asked to talk to a crowd of boy thieves and I had
to tell them that though I now looked as if I had never been
young I really had been a child once and would have been in
a similar institution if I had been found out. I asked them if
their notion of play was to throw stones at elderly gentlemen
with beards? I had once found myself a target of a barrage of
stones, heavy and sharp enough to injure me seriously if they
had found their mark.’

'But you have not had such an experience here, have you?’

'I rarely see a child here. They must get out of the way when
they see me coming. I get on very well with babies. I let them
tweak my nose. One must keep perfectly still with children as
with animals and let them examine one to their complete satis¬
faction.’

’Yes,’ I agreed, 'when my daughter Theodora was a babe of
two or three years old, Lucien Pissarro was very fond of her.
He made her sit on his lap and beamed as she studied him and
stroked his voluminous dark beard.’

'The nicest beard I have ever seen and one which I myself
would have liked to touch was that of Rabindranath Tagore.
It was blue and of the softest silky texture.

'Yes,’ my wife agreed.

'Did you know him?’

'Amongst other artists I was invited to meet him when he

18

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

came over and gave a reading of his poetry. I was only a young
girl but I always was amused by ceremony and ostentation. I
missed a great deal of the poetry through the posing '

'My dear Clare, one has to pose! I dislike it as much as you
do, but one has to dramatize oneself or else remain completely
insignificant. 1 shall never forget walking in London one
night and suddenly, in the light thrown by a shop window,
appeared the most handsome couple I have ever seen : William
Sutler Yeats and Maud Gonne. But for the dramatic effect

created by the light and the unexpected place I would never
nave realized how magnificent they were.’

'You are a romantic, G.B.S.' Clare remarked.

It is a fact of human nature, romantic or not romantic '

?. f S ' out Hc add ed = '' wish I could have made

Sidney Webb dramatize himself a little . . . instead of always

remam.ng ,n the background. A reputation must be fostered

He warns" m " " d ’ e °‘ her dly fr ° m a sd 'oolmaster.

permission to abridge my play Sain, /*,„ for

school purposes. I answered that I was not aware that there

XnioTm TT an J ° f my Phys! If the children "'ere
to enjoy my books when they grew up my work must be keot

OU of t he schools. Shakespeare, I told him, waTcomp.etX

spoilt for everybody by being turned into a school subiert The

world can t afford to wreck its geniuses. A genius is not created

very other day What it takes three hundred years to produce

toe" sch at | 1S " hat d t0 ° k f ° r me t0 come after Shakespeare)

the schoolmaster can destroy within a day.’ P

had to contradict him here. 'I personally feel' I said 'that
Sh^espeare survived because he L fostered at school 1

'WeU U Z ar^no USe him '' G B S ' ™i»*»ed.

■I don’t m- T TV ® y °“ r P 1 ^ 5 for examinations '
edit mv nlT ^ “ lon S 35 the schoolmasters don't

never been able to pass examinationTand SkM
are askXT'^^" 0 " ° Wn W ° rks ' What of questions

19

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

I suggested: 'Was it Webb or Wells who wrote the Shaw
plays ?’

G.B.S. laughed: 'As a matter of fact, Webb might have
written them, because he had a sense of fun. Webb wrote the
plays and Wells wrote the prefaces. How could a completely
uneducated person like Shaw write anything?’

'I wonder what Beatrice would have said if Webb had
taken to writing plays instead of tracts?’

'I don’t see the difference. They both had a clear idea as to
what they intended to do and set themselves to do it. I shouldn’t
at all be surprised that theirs will be the only literature that
will survive. You know they lacked the esthetic sense com¬
pletely like most Fabians.’

I disagreed entirely with this statement. Beatrice Webb
when asked why she prayed, answered that it was through
prayer that she discovered the goal of human endeavour and
that is why prayer has always been associated with the arts and
the great emotional mysteries of nature.

G.B.S. almost shook with dissension. 'What absolute non¬
sense ! Who on earth can know the goal of human endeavour,
prayer or no prayer? We can only see a bit ahead at a time.
It is the artist-philosopher who sees that little bit. There was
always a queer streak in Beatrice. The Webbs used to take
furnished houses for the summer and I always went with
them so I had an opportunity of knowing her very well.
Having been brought up in a menage a trois I fitted in per¬
fectly. At one of these places we found in an outhouse a
penny-farthing and being of a mechanical turn of mind I at
once started practising on it. Of course, I always fell, much to
Beatrice’s amusement. She told me she had never laughed so
much in her life. Sidney, hearing this laughter came out to
join in whatever fun was going. He wanted to try this penny¬
farthing himself, of course, but Beatrice rushed up to him
flinging her arms round him, and held on imploring him not
to endanger his life. It didn't matter to her what happened to

me, you see.’

20

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

My response led G.B.S. to tell another cycling story.

'So you like cycling stories. Well, here is another. One
afternoon I was flying down a steep hill with my feet up on
the rests, going at a speed that took the machine miles beyond
my control. Bertrand Russell was in front of me and Webb
was behind me. Seeing the road clear before us, I gave myself
up to the enjoyment of a headlong tearing toboggan down the
hill. Imagine my feelings when I saw Russell jump off and
turn his machine right across my path to read the signpost! I
rang my bell, shouted my loudest and swerved desperately to
the right: he looked round and backed with his machine to
the right, my right, also. Never was a mathematician so exact
in his calculation. Smash! Never losing my presence of mind.
I managed to make a twist to the left which prevented my
going into him absolutely at right angles and thereby destroy¬
ing the future of mathematics and drama. Webb went on con¬
vinced that we were both killed. I don't think Beatrice ever
forgave me for giving her husband such a shock.’

How is it die Webbs had no children?’ I asked when his
laughter subsided.

I rather diink that Beatrice would have liked just one child
to experiment on but Sidney knew better, it seems.’ There was
a twinkle of mischief in the Shavian eye. He added: 'It would
have probably been a misfit as so many children of geniuses
are. This brought us back to the children of the village. He
wanted to know where the children were being taught, because
the old schoolhouse was used as a home by the rector. I ex¬
plained that the Ayot children were collected every day and
taken by taxi to their school three miles away. This seemed to
amuse nm. In the good old days children had to walk miles
and miles in snow and rain often underfed and ill-clad to the

ever? heasked°^ inStmCti ° n ' ' D ° ^ "V*™* ho ""

■They still stare at you if you ask them a question' I
answered. n

It is they who should be asking the questions,’ he said.

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Fortunately for me I have no children or my ignorance would
have been exposed to the whole world. I never argued with
my father nor asked him why? why? why? As a child I asked
him what? what? what? as all children do. Under this pres¬
sure he told me many things I did not know, improvising his
answers on the spur of the moment as I found out later quite
correctly. Like all improvisations they were more interesting
and nearer the truth than mere fact. Would you say you learnt
anything at school?’ he asked me.

'I don't think so, except that one teacher read poetry so
beautifully, especially Shakespeare, that my highest ambition
was to be a poet.’

'Poor chap. Who has ever made a living as a poet? Was I
ever mentioned at school?’

'Yes... as an example of a man without poetry.’

'My plays are essentially poetic dramas and should be sung.
The teachers have always been the greatest enemies of culture,
don’t you agree?’

'No more than the rest of humanity,’ I answered. 'I have
never found the world eager to proclaim the prophet.’

He smiled. 'I haven’t done so badly, but I had to do all the
teaching and even now I daren’t let go. I mustn’t turn my back
for a minute. Where is the man to take my place?’

I suggested we were not in need of leaders.

'Yes,’ he retorted, 'but we are in need of intelligence.

'The Germans are a highly intelligent people and they are
leading us to disaster.’

True enough. They were the first to recognize me. They
have since had their intelligence knocked out of them. They
thought they would frighten us out of our wits but instead
they frightened us into our wits. The war has turned into a
struggle between Shakespeare and Shaw. Shall the stage be
strewn with corpses or can we get the characters to sit down
and talk things over in the true Shavian manner? You see
Hitler pretends to be a man of action but he mistakes acting
for action, in fact he’s the ham actor!

22

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

We’re a bit tired of leaders and super-men and super-
races.’

'And yet,’ he answered very sweetly, ’if all people were
overmodest like myself we’d never get anywhere. My bane
has always been modesty. Like Hamlet I lacked ambition. I
was disabled for many years by imagining that everybody
knew as much if not more than I knew ... and could do every¬
thing rather better.’

Surprised that I did not show astonishment, he at once
changed the slide in this mental lantern lecture and showed me
Sidney Webb again.

'Sidney Webb refused to become a living lie. He was the
only man I knew who refused to do it.’

'The world is full of anonymous people who have lived and
now live a life of integrity and service: in this war there must
be thousands and thousands of them. But for them, the great
ones would have been Hamlets still talking to themselves.’

He brushed this aside. No doubt it sounded to him a plati¬
tude. r

, v ,! erha P s ’ he added M t0 himself, ’I should have included
William Morris.’

You were fortunate in your friends.’

'Oh, well,’ he drooped his head smiling, then added: ’I
do not know what they found in me because I was just an
odious argumentative young man who made himself
thoroughly unpleasant by contradicting everybody. A habit I
developed when young and have never been able to throw off ’
The pleasure must have been on both sides.'

Do you think so? Anyhow it gave me a chance to sharpen
y wits. He took out of his pocket the watch and held it aloft

irrr- 1 t* g °- 1 1 " 3 is a p re$ent fr ° m w ^de. &

cost me fifty pounds to redeem it from the pawnbroker.’ As

Sa we heard the singing of Aildren ' A -

m H "=

23

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

He is certainly not the kind of man bom to blush un¬
seen. ..

He came wanting to walk, swinging his stick and humming.
There is a cart track behind the house and we had to cut the
path dear of nettles and briar. I held up overhanging branches
to let him pass, dreading the thought of a scratch on this agile
figure. He brought out a pair of old secateurs which, he told
me, he always carried with him.

'I cut this path years ago and I haven't been here for a long
time.’

As we stopped to admire the scene of distant wood and
ploughed fields we were greeted by the rector who looked
very tired and crestfallen.

'This war is taking too long. It should have been over.’ The
rector was holding a bundle of wood. At that moment G.B.S.
looked younger than his much younger friend. He pulled his
tweed cap on one side and beat the nettles with his stick.

'I noticed,’ G.B.S. said, looking the rector in the eye, 'that
the demolished abbey is smothered with weeds. It’s a grand
place for weeds this. You should see my garden.’

'll jaut cultiver notre ;W/';;.'Therector’s French was perfect.

'I didn’t know that you practised what Voltaire preached,’
G.B.S. teased.

The rector smiled : ’I occasionally even practise what you
preach. And I still have hopes that you may even practise what
I preach.’

We walked back, in single file of course. Noticing a book
sticking out of the rector’s pocket I asked him what it was he
was reading. His hands were folded as always behind his back
and he turned to us and recited:

And this

Is certain: never be afraid!

1 love what 1 have made,

1 know this is not wit,

This is not to be clever,

Or anything whatever.

24

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

You see, I am a servant, that is it:

You’ve hit

The mark ... a servant; for the other word . . . .
Why, you are Lord, if anyone is Lord.

G.B.S. walked on and it appeared that he was not listening.
There he was, spine erect, swinging his stick at any obtrusive
branch. Suddenly he exclaimed: 'God is not a servant. He’s
an artist. God made the world as an artist and that is why the
world must learn from its artists.’

The rector would not agree. 'No, artists must go to Nature
for their inspiration. I’m all for Matthew Arnold.’

The dandy Isaiah! ’ Shaw snorted.

The rector was shocked. 'One must allow for change of
fashion,’ he pleaded.

'The worst dressed person I ever knew,’ Shaw said, 'was
William Morris. He looked like a sailor in old clothes. You
should read News from Nowhere.’

I read it as a young man, of course, and was greatly im¬
pressed. A very charming picture like your Candida, very
romantic and sentimental.’

Well ... it served its purpose. . . .’

The heavy droning of ponderous ’planes drowned his voice.
They flew so low that the old beech quivered and shook.

Evil things,’ muttered the rector.

We walked silently towards Shaw’s Corner, as he has called
his house. The rector walked on, a forlorn figure, his head
well in advance of his unwilling legs. I caught him up and we
both walked right through the village, the six o’clock news
booming out from the Tudor cottage, then from the room
above the post office, and next from the inn.

Mr. Shaw takes himself too seriously,’ the rector said as we
hirned the corner towards his home on the periphery. 'I’ve

ThomirH 1 ^ hl$ , Bl * nco u Posnet again. He’ll end up like
Thomas Hardy and the others, in the Church yet.’

A little girl rushed out of his gate to meet him affectionately.

Chapter 2

IN SPITE OF THE WAR AND THE ENEMY AT OUR VERY GATES.
Shaw settled down to a new book. Even if he had not told me
I would have guessed by the kind of questions he asked. One
of his main concerns was education and we played with this
subject inside and out. Whenever I attacked he was quick to
defend and whenever I defended he was quick to attack. The
only example I had from him of his actual experience, apart,
of course, from his schooling seventy years back, was a visit
with Wells to Oundle. Here was a headmaster, Mr. Sander¬
son, making a great effort to put the new goddess Science on
the same pedestal as Classics. The engineer took the place of
the poet; and Wells, the prophet of Science, became the dis¬
ciple. Shaw, however, was left unmoved. From much first¬
hand experience I could not assure him that schools had
radically changed, in spite of the word 'new' or 'creative' pre¬
fixed to everything associated with education.

He declared: 'A complete public-school and university
training may leave its graduates so barbarously ignorant that
when war comes, they are found in all directions trying to
close public art galleries and museums.’

'As a matter of fact,’ I informed him, 'things have gone in
the opposite direction in this war. Never has there been such
an interest in the arts. Though the paintings of the National
Gallery had to be placed in security elsewhere, the Gallery at
once sprang into being as a national community centre where
thousands flocked to listen to the best music and keep in
touch with whatever paintings were shown there.

'A reaction to our vile schooling,’ he answered. 'Children
have a way of acting in the opposite direction intended. I am

26

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

always being invited to schools to give out the prizes to the
successful ones. It amuses me because I myself would give a
prize to the most mischievous lad. What have I to do with a
good boy that fits in perfectly with a bad system. I, myself,
have no competitive instinct, nor do I crave for prizes or
distinctions, consequently I have no interest in competitive
examinations. If I won, the disappointment of my competitors
would distress me instead of gratifying me. If I lost, my
precious self-esteem would suffer. As few win and the majority
lose the competitive system presses hard on most children. I
am invited to these places because I am a magnificently suc¬
cessful person. They do not see that as I am a totally unedu¬
cated and self-made man, it is a reflection on their education.’

‘Yet you have always preferred the Fabians, a highly edu¬
cated lot, to the Social Democratic Federation proletarians! ’
‘Then,’ he answered quickly, you haven’t heard what Wells
called the Fabians: liars, tricksters, blackguards! I maintain

that the only permanently valuable education is the esthetic
education.’

•

And that can t be taught,’ I maintained.

‘I know. I wanted to be an artist, nothing less than a Michel¬
angelo, but after a little discouragement at the art school I

gave it up. I am very easily discouraged. What I can't do well
straight away, I give up.’

• fortunate ^ at y° u n ot become an artist. You
might have been a poor man and certainly not have been

mvited to distribute prizes to successful little boys and girls.’

I don t know ... I would have made art pay. . ..’

‘By flattering your sitters?’ I suggested.

I was born without a bump of reverence. But I would have
got round that somehow.’

I have been reading George Moore again....’

Never listen to an Irishman,’ he warned me. I smiled and

reached out for the book from the side table by the window.

h f^ I ! W l ing L h,S f foot mischievously as I read to him a passage:
Hail, therefore to the thrice glorious virtue injustice!

27

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

What care I that some millions of wretched Israelites died
under Pharaoh’s lash or Egypt’s sun? It was well that they
died that I might have pyramids to look on, or to fill a musing
hour with wonderment. Is there one amongst us who would
exchange them for the lives of the ignominious slaves who
died? What care I that the virtue of some sixteen-year-old
maiden was the price paid for Ingres’ 'La Source.’ That the
model died of drink and disease in the hospital is nothing
compared with the essential that I should have 'La Source,’
that exquisite dream of innocence to think of till my good
soul is sick with delight of the painter’s holy vision.” ’

G.B.S. threw back his head and laughed.

'When art and science,' he said, 'are opened up to persons
not qualified by philosophic moral training they are plunged
into an abyss of stupidity and cruelty from which nothing but
outraged humanity can rescue it.’

I pointed out that the particular works which so delighted
George Moore were of no consequence and certainly did not
deserve the sacrifice of a single human being. Truly great
work is done at the sacrifice of the artist himself.

'Leave the sacrifice out of it! I thoroughly enjoy my work
and if I miss it for a day I am out of sorts. That is why I go
down every morning to my hut. I know I can’t be disturbed
there. Can you tell me why children can’t walk into a school,
read the books that interest them, make the things they want
to make and leave when they want to leave? Have people
there to assist them whenever they so require it, certainly, as
in the library, but abolish the schoolmaster. Education will
never get anywhere while the schoolmaster is there.

I reminded him that such schools had existed both in
America and here in England and that Aldous Huxley des¬
cribed a visit to one, the best example, situated in a slum.
There were no time-tables but subject rooms where the bo)S
went at will and chose their books and read freely with a
specialist master in the background who only functioned
when a boy came to him for advice. The Huxleys were deeply

28

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

impressed by the responsible, free and at the same time co¬
operative spirit of the boys. For, instead of competing, the
advanced boys helped those who were backward.

He showed great surprise and paused longer than usual for
his reply: 'Aldous was a bookworm and so this kind of educa¬
tion fitted nicely into the good old world, in the same way as
the British Museum served the purpose of Carlyle, Karl Marx
and myself. But is the bookworm the best type of citizen? I
always generalize from my own personal experience. While
good boys were learning their lessons out of textbooks and
receiving prizes for regular attendance and good conduct, I
was acquiring through my own efforts an equipment in art, in
music and in literature, building up a spiritual capital which
has yielded good interest for die rest of my life. I learnt to
recognize the works of the old masters at sight, I learnt French
history from the novels of Dumas and English history from
Shakespeare and Walter Scott and I could sing and whistle
from end to end works by Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven
and Verdi. I was saturated with the works of Bunyan, Shelley
and Dickens. I soon learnt that to know a little was to know
much more than the specialists who get their knowledge at
university Instead of answering questions out of their own
wisdom they rely on material, centuries out of date because
that was the stuff whidi gave them their diplomas.’

* at tbe majority leave their education when they

ever the hf' ^ ^ ^ 1 definite distaste for what ’

e\cr they have acquired there.'

I hC Went ° n ’ have never st0 Pped learning and so

Literrof 8 aT St / n r mieS Wh ° haVe been dedare d

masters of art and of science. William Morris once told me
toat the money he paid for his master of arts, I believe it was

V *. Sbeer . economic waste - He could have

29

DAYS WITH BERNARD SIIAW

Instead your diplomas arc in the shape of your plays. . .

A smile showed for a while but immediately disappeared.

I am really a teacher and my plays arc my method of
instructing the "educated”. The ignorant. I find, don’t need
me. They are the self-helpers like myself, in the vanguard
of all the movements which are slowly transforming the
world.'

'But not many people are fortunate enough to have a home
life where such ignorance is fostered,’ I could not help saying.

'Fostered! Ever)' conceivable difficulty was put in my way.
I never saw my father with a book in his hand, and my mother
ignored my existence completely.’

’But your mother, I remember, was a very hard worker.
When she taught me singing,’ Clare said, 'I did not know
how old she must have been, but now I realize that she was
almost as old as you are now, and how she worked!’

'My mother and I lived together but there was hardly a
word between us. She was a disillusioned woman. She was
most fond of my sisters, especially Agnes who had pale red
hair, really Scotch, not like mine which was quite auburn. Un¬
fortunately she became ill; we called it going into a decline
then but now it is known as tuberculosis, and my mother spent
all her time trying to get her well. However, she died in the
Isle of Wight. So, with her favourite daughter dead, my
father a drunkard and her only son a drag on her, what she
had done for love of music she had to slave at in her later
years for a bare existence. However, when my wife and I
married I saw to it that a good settlement was made in her

favour.

Prunus and apple blossom, tulip and daffodil had come
again and gone. Everybody, from the oldest to the child who
could hold a tool, worked at growing food. It seemed wrong
to spend the time talking when there was so much to do

G.B.S. made for his usual seat in the sitting-room, facing
the fireplace and when there was no fire in the grate because

30

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

we wanted to save coal, he looked towards the electric fire
and we would at once put it fully on and as near to him as
possible. He loved great heat and his legs and hands would
bask and bake.

'Cold agrees with me best of all,’ he said, and I am glad
this hot summer is over. How do you enjoy being buried alive
in Ayot? I, myself, like being left to myself. I inherited this
from my mother, who was forced to enjoy her own society
because society disowned her when my father proved a drunk¬
ard. It suits me well. Charlotte on the other hand likes to have
a lot of young men around her and would have liked to travel.
If she weren t ill and confined to the curtilage she would still

have kept me on the move. For her, happiness is always round
the corner.’

It s so much of a dream living here, a dream realized of
course, that I have to switch on the news to get back to life,
now that I am on vacation.’

'Forget the blasted war. It will pass like a thief in the

night, and that reminds me, did you hear the planes last night
circling round my house?’

'I thought they were circling round mine.’

'Undoubtedly looking out for me. They’ve already burnt
my books, now they want to spoil my looks. Shaw without a
beard would be a monstrosity. But this is the safest place
ecause the I.C.I. is here. The chiefs must be kept alive at all
costs and they must have chosen well.’

They probably chose it because you are here, G.B.S.’
hear that they are doing my plays even now in Germany.
They regard me as Irish and therefore a neutral. I have a great
deal of money frozen in that country and all the heat of the
ar will not turn the Germans against me. I told them twenty

of th/f r ? g °’ kr ar r St 15 a su P ernatio ™I »nd is a member
davf Ihen rePUb C ° f r art - 1 WaS thinkin * of *e old Museum

W?rid and 7 7’ USe f P hil0s °phers from all over the
world, and yet not one spoke to the other as far as I know I

never met Karl Marx personally but the peop7 who have

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

never read him now think him obsolete in order to justify
their lack of knowledge. If it weren’t for Karl Marx I might
still have been writing unreadable novels and like Savage
Landor would have boasted of not a single copy sold.

'You know, of course, it was top-hatted Hyndman who in¬
troduced Marx to the English proletariat. The strange thing
was when Hyndman wrote his historic book on Economics he
did not mention Marx and I asked Mrs. Hyndman what had
happened. Had her husband gone over to the enemy? Matilda
looked at me knowingly and explained that her husband had
dinner with Karl and in a fit of high spirits had put on Karl s
hat and found it fitted. Karl had never forgiven him for this
insult. It meant that Hyndman’s high hat would have rested
comfortably on the uncrowned king of the proletarians. After
this meeting with Marx, Hyndman could face anybody, even

William Morris and myself.’

In the same way,’ I suggested, as Bertrand Russell could

face the world after dining with Gladstone.

'With Gladstone!’

'Yes, Bertrand Russell was only a child when his parents
invited the G.O.M. He was left alone with the frightening

old fellow and heard these momentous words: "The port was
good but should not have been served in claret glasses .

'I always wondered,' G.B.S. mused, 'what Gladstone said

in eighteen hundred and-

G.B.S. picked out a sweet from the dish we had learnt to

place beside him and this he enjoyed with obvious relish.

'Do you think/ he asked, 'an audience takes the least notice

of what a speaker says? In my play The Shcwmg-Uf of
Blanco Posnet, Waggoner Jo is supposed to say: I came on
her on the track round by Red Mountain. She was setting on
the ground with the dead baby on her lap, stupid--like. The

horse was grazing on the other side of the road. ’ ns cad *
actor said: "She was setting on the ground with the dea
horse on her lap, stupid-like. The child war: grazing; on the
other side of the road” and nobody noticed the difference.

32

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

He dipped into the dish for a chocolate: 'Where do you
get these?’

'We bought these in London,’ we told him . . . And we
were glad that he liked them. These delicacies were difficult to
obtain and we kept them for him alone. He was always eager
to see what we were reading and was surprised to find on the
table by the couch a book of Browning’s poems.

I referred to a rhyme scheme I had come across:

The wolf, fox, bear and monkey
By piping advice in one key —

That his pipe should play a prelude
To something heaven tinged not hell hued,
Something not harsh but docile,

Man-liquid not man-fossil.

Leonardo da Vinci ruled his notebooks in columns headed
tox wolf, bear and monkey and made notes of human faces
by ticking them off in these columns,' he reminded me
I don t think I ever met the Brownings,' he said. 'The
reason I did not write verse was that instead of saying what
vanted to say in it I had to say something that would rhyme
and to find the rhyme I had to go right through the alphabet

helne^W I^T" 8 eX P eri L enCe : though I must say I often

S I : ?t s z right word " ,hen he was

It' wnr d ° thmgS that 1 find eas y- *'ke writing

p ays Will,am Morns was like that. He found he couIdn^t

fi d H °* , 8 T ‘ f Up - HC Said: " Never d ° a *ing that you

“jSSteST- ' n ° thCr ^ Wh ° findS U -V will

sistflnd my im P reSsion is '' 1 'that the person who per-
“ — 77 hke yourself, for example,

Sh ff CV “ thC eas >' 8° in g P ers °n.’ P

btuff and nonsense! The only difficulty I had to surmount

was poverty. It was only when I married wealth that I was able

L d ! Wn and -he unactable plays like Back

■ The aim 0f ever y artls t is to reach the unattainable and

33

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

that can only be reached when you don't have to cut the path
with your own hands.’

'Yet the path has to be cut.’

'There are always people willing to hurt themselves for
you. Those never succeed themselves. The self-sacrificer is
always a drag, a responsibility and a reproach which nobody
likes to admit. The result is that the self-sacrificer finds conso¬
lation in his failure while the self-helper goes marching on.’

'Karl Marx led you to hate material exploitation but you
still seem to justify Samuel Smiles.’

He stiffened and spoke slowly and decisively. 'I am only
stating a fact! We must get the facts of human nature correct
before we start tackling its problems. It is no good, you’ll
never get anywhere until you set to work to find out what the
world is really like. What you suppose is the real world does
not exist and men and women are made by their own fancies
and live in their own imagination. The disillusion which
would make you tragic makes me only derisive. I inherited a
comedic love of anticlimax from my father. With me life is
too horrible to weep bitter tears. I must retreat to my shelter
and indulge in a laugh all to myself over it.

34

Chapter 5

IT WAS POURING WITH RAIN AND AYOT SAINT LAWRENCE
seemed more cut off than ever. I had walked through lanes
which had turned into streams and my clothes were drenched;
a few cars passed and I had to get close to the dripping hedge
to avoid the fierce splashing. This was in the days before there
was an appeal to motorists to help pedestrians whenever pos¬
sible. The lights of the cars were so dimmed that the

winding lanes with their high hedges might have been nar¬
row paths along a precipice. It was necessary to carry some
article in white to warn the oncoming motorist. Bernard Shaw,
ever vigilant, had provided himself with a long white mack¬
intosh and white cap. That, with his white beard and pale
face made him look ghostlike. On this day he also carried a
huge umbrella and so the elements had not an earthly chance
against him. He laughed when he saw my state when I arrived
home and I ran up to the bathroom to get myself dry.

'I haven’t got long to stay,’ he warned me, ‘because I hate
going home in the dark, and it gets dark so early these days.’

I was not a minute away and when I came down, the fire
was indeed a welcome sight and Shaw was spreading out his
hands over it and sitting almqst on top of it. I could not help
wondering how a man who was so very much at home in the

by diefire nd *** SUmmCr dayS ’ yet en i°y ed scorching

'There is a heavy drizzly fog in London,* I said.

'It’s been quite nice here. I have been very busy in my
shelter with this book of mine. I don’t know why I am doin'
it. It is only a resume and may interest a new generation that
always wants everything served up new. I have been told by
people that the reading of a single book of mine has changed

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

their whole lives. This puts a heavy, a very heavy responsi¬
bility on these aged shoulders. Older readers have grown
familiar with my style and do not take me so seriously but the
new print addicts may find me too grim for their liking.’ I do
not know how he obtained his knowledge of young people
as he had not met any for years. He continued: 'Karl Marx
ruined himself by simply telling the purseproud nineteenth
century' its own villainous history and so changed the mind of
the world. William Morris died a comparatively young man
because he insisted on giving time which he might have de¬
voted to his art to propaganda among the masses. Ibsen, once
the greatest writer in the world, wore himself away and at
seventy-six became a child again trying to begin once more at
pothooks and hangers. I am the first to guard my health as
well as my genius. The danger is that I shall outlive my wel¬
come.’

’That will never be. Why, there is a whole generation
growing up ready to read and understand you.’

'Do you think so?’ he asked pleased and then added:
'Young people do not like the old.’

'And do the old like the young?’

'I should say we accept them as an unavoidable necessity.’

'That may be because you have had no children of your own.

’Children are the last people to understand their parents
and parents are the last people to understand their children;
in fact until I came to this house I had never seen parents and
children quietly discussing things or listening to one another
as you and your family do. What is the secret of your up¬
bringing?’ He waited intently for an answer.

'From the first we discussed everything together. We have
never said "don’t” and perhaps we explained everything in a
way which caused them to think. But our life is in no way

exceptional.. .^ •
It is! You are all individuals with no ready-made mora
•, »

'Nonsense, we are just conventional people like yourself.

36

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'One has to live a conventional life,’ he said. 'Ninety per
cent of my life is like everybody else’s. The rest is my work.’
He took out the gold watch as always and yes, it was the
exact time for him to depart. Ten minutes to six.

I must run, he said, and we helped him on with his long
white mackintosh, his cap and gloves. There was no need for
the umbrella, so he used it as a stick and we saw him walk

away, upright and brisk and his torch flashing a path for him
along the gleaming wet lane.

'Have you ever met William Morris?' Shaw began one day.
I was very much of a child then, but I was taken to hear
him speak. He looked more proletarian than the workers who

came to hear him. And I seem to think that he affected a
Cockney accent.’

'Because he was ashamed of the class he belonged to.

Though he was really a worker if ever there was one. He was

always working and his tastes were really very simple. He told

me that he could have lived on plain bread and cheese and

onions if he could have some wine with these things. It was

nothing for him, however, to spend hundreds of pounds on a

beautiful book. He never challenged the price if he liked a
thing.

'Whenever you mention William Morris,' I said, 'I think
of Rossetti's bull. Did you know that he bought a white bull
because it had eyes like Mrs. William Morris?'

'Janie?’

Yes He tethered it on the lawn of his home in Chelsea
i>oon there was no lawn left only the bull.’

I should have thought a peacock was more in his line.’

under the sofa and died there. It must have died of terrible
loneliness, don’t you think?’

“■* ™ re like1 ?-; G ' B S - h * d a way of stressing his point
with a deliberate wmk which ended in a roguish'Lite He

went on : You see some of these Bohemianflhink that a^y

37

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

old life is all right. I get on very well with animals excepting
the little dog in my home. It yaps ever)' time it sees me; it is
almost human in its dislike of me.’

'Reggie is a very conceited little dog,’ I said. 'He most likely
doesn't think you good enough.’

'Does he bark at you? It's my housekeeper’s you know,
and she is the master and no other.’

'Yes, wc noticed that. I believe your housekeeper is too
class conscious

'Charlotte is very fond of animals. We were cycling once
and we came across a rabbit completely stunned by the ap¬
proach of a stoat. Charlotte picked it up and carried it four
miles away but even then it hadn’t recovered its playfulness.’

He bent down to stroke our cat lying there sprawling at his
feet, daring his big brown shoe to use her as a foot-rest. And
what do you think. Fuzzy, about things?’ he asked lovingly
of the cat.

'Do you play games?’

I was startled by the sudden question. I feared invitations
to croquet on the lawn or was the long winter evening strain¬
ing his endurance and was I to be invited to a game of
bridge? I was relieved to find that he had no such intentions.
He had no need of these pleasant ways of killing time. Time

was very sweet to him, then why kill it?

'I dislike anything competitive,’ he asserted again. 'Besides
too much of my time is wasted on trifles like feeding and
washing and dressing. Your sportsman will countenance, con¬
nive at and grovel his way through all sorts of meanness,
servility and cruel indifference to suffering in order to enjoy
a miserable pound’s worth of social position, piety and com¬
fort. However, I miss more than anything else my daily swim

at the Automobile Club.’ f

I remembered that he said somewhere that effectiveness of

assertion was the alpha and omega of style. There was no

mincing of words here. He did not think that the team-work

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

developed say, in football or cricket, that the quick decision
and immediate action which is appreciated and demanded in
games would show in other fields of activity. That indeed is a
fallacy of much of our educational system: we are always
developing this or that faculty, the reasoning faculty by a
miserable emphasis on abstruse problems in arithmetic; the
memory by learning long pieces of incomprehensible verse;
the esthetic by painting photographically and the result is
that the young regard these subjects with disgust. When I
reminded him of this he was even more sweeping than ever.

'The whole educational system is a fraud. At the end of
their ten years of their schooling they are unable to speak even
their native language. They may acquire some sort of physical
courage through their games but all moral courage has cer¬
tainly gone from them. I can remember a relative who insisted
that I should ride a horse though I was unused to them and
very much afraid, and she was enormously amused at my
terrors and did not seem moved in any way by the possibility
that I might break my legs. But when she discovered that I
had found a copy of the Arabian Nights and was reading it
with great delight, she was horror stricken and hid the book
from me. That was reflected in the sportsman’s attitude to
Ibsen: these people who talked in their clubs of broken collar
bones and broken necks whined in terror when faced with
spiritual adventure of the highest order. My own moral
faculty was only developed after I had dropped the pious
habit of saying prayers. Up to that time I had not experienced
the slightest remorse in telling the most incredible lies, but
with the coming of the urge for telling the truth for its own
sake I found my true vocation. It is the birth of moral passion
that turns the child into a man.’

'Then what on earth made you ask me about games?’ I
asked.

I just wanted to place you, that’s all,’ he answered.

I could not help smiling as I remembered his story of
Beatrice Webb and how unhappy she was because she could

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

not label him. When she could label me "Sprite” she could
stand my presence after that.’

I had a neat little label stuck on me to-day,’ I said. I was
talking to the road sweeper and congratulated him on the tidi¬
ness of our lane. I told him that he worked like two men. He
was quick off the mark, like an athlete. "Sir,” he said, "you
are a very discerning man. You would think that by the way
Mr. Shaw treats me, he passes me by, jest like that,” making a
sweeping movement with his hand, "that I’m dirt; but you sir,
are a gentleman!” ’

Shaw laughed. 'A gentleman indeed!’ he taunted me.
'Doesn’t he know that you work? What spoilt it for me in the
village was that when a villager called, my maid told him that
I mustn’t be disturbed because I was at work. It soon went
round that I was no better than themselves. Now if the maid
had told the fellow that I was out shooting I would have been
held up as a model gentleman. As to discernment, to an alien
like myself all Englishmen are alike as to an Englishman all
Chinamen are alike. And yet there must be something of the
gentleman in me because Collier painted me looking like a
stockbroker, so like me that Charlotte walked straight up to it
when she came to Collier’s studio and took it for the living
article. John painted me looking like a gamekeeper and Lavery
saw me as an angler. The only artist who saw the barbarian in
me was Epstein. Nobody looking at his bust of me would sus-
)ect me of gambling, shooting or angling. Epstein forgot to
)rush my hair and the result was that Charlotte refused to
have it in the house. In fact I had to choose between her and
the bust and I don’t know where the bust is at the moment.
You see Charlotte married a genius and saw to it that my hair
was brushed.’

'And yet Browning disappointed everybody with his care¬
fully brushed hair, smart coat and fine manners!

'Yes, I can’t be a real Socialist because I wear a hat, another
concession to bourgeois convention. The fact is I don t stop
for the road sweeper, because as you know, I can't bear people

40

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

who talk. Talking about artists: Collier would say to me while
he was painting: "I may not be much of an artist but I could
throw off a painting like John’s without effort. It’s child’s
play.” When Lavery was doing my portrait I asked him what
he thought of John. “Well,” he answered, “I’m not too
bad as an artist but I would give anything to paint like John.”
You will agree that Lavery was infinitely superior to Collier.’

'Coming back to your remarks about the pious habit of say-
ing prayers, a friend told me an interesting story the other
day. Two men visited Tolstoy and a room was provided for
them where they had to do their own catering, cleaning and
cooking. One of them preferred to stay in bed late in the
mornings and the other found all the work forced on him.
The latter prayed and prayed that his lazy friend should see
the light and co-operate but the more he prayed the angrier
he became. At last he rose from his knees, pulled the bed
clothes off the lie-a-bed and shrieked "You miserable skulk¬
ing swine, get up and work.” ’

'The birth of moral passion! ’

Transport was not the only difficulty; that could easily be
surmounted, but no domestic servant could be lured into this
wilderness without even the oasis of a shop or cinema The
few gardeners already here were too fully occupied to give
occasional help. We found ourselves overwhelmed with the
housework and gardening as well as our own work. This
made it difficult for us to have open house as we were accus¬
tomed to do and converted many a pleasure into a heavy task.

Cr.B.S. was not entirely absolved from this anxiety. One of
his young gardeners had been called up for service and it was
even likely that one of the younger maids would have to go
This problem worried him more than the world situation and
he spent many a visit thinking out the solution to this insur¬
mountable (so it seemed to him) difficulty. He said:

used to pretend that I was the reasonable one with all my
wit and omniscience but now I realise that I am a monstrous

41

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

falsehood. Who keeps the house clean? Who looks after my
clothes? Who prepares my meals? Who looks after the garden?’

His housekeeper and her husband who acted as valet and
gardener were loyal to breaking point and had been with the
two old people for thirty years. Their work was pleasant
enough in the days before the war when the Shaws came
down for a week-end or so, but now Mrs. Shaw was practi¬
cally helpless and they were in full residence. I occasionally
met the old man in the train: he was having osteopathic treat¬
ment for his spine which, as he put it, 'was only held together
by a thread.’ He was a tall, thin man dressed in black, starch
collar and bowler hat when he went up to town. The only
remark he permitted himself about his master was: 'You
would not think that quiet man could say boo to a goose and
yet I hear he not half gives it to them.’

Who the ’them’ were he didn’t quite know.

To cap this trouble, Shaw was actually asked by the local
council to take in a few evacuees. It was true that he had a few
rooms vacant but the very thought of children and strangers
drove him to distraction. His answer was typical:

’The house contained two octogenarians, two septuagen¬
arians and who among these could entertain a soul?’

So the Shaw household was left to itself while minute
cottages with grandparents, parents and children found
shelter for evacuees.

'You see,’ he explained, *1 run a big business with thou¬
sands of pounds involved and the Government would lose
more than it would gain by interfering with my work. I have
enough money lost in America ... of course, I have no doubt
I'll get it ultimately when I don’t need it. And there is Russia,
Germany, China, all holding on to my cash. I
grumble because I can put myself down in the millionaire
class. There is one thing I have never ceased from teaching
and that is the value of money: money is indeed the most
important thing in life and if you deny it you are an enemy

of life.’

42

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'I certainly deny it.’

How well I knew his argument that a sufficient income is
indispensable to the practice of virtue, that living in a world
of poor and unhappy people is like living in hell. He had
drummed it in so long into the minds of labour-leader, artist
and writer that he had changed the direction of their thought.

'If this country goes under, it will be mainly, if not en¬
tirely, through financial incompetence. It’s of no use thinking
that all you have to do is to beat the others at the polls and
then convert the Sermon of the Mount into legislation,’ he
argued. And he told me in his inimitable style of a poet who
had to decide between ten per cent and a penny in the shilling
and he could not think which was the larger percentage:
'Now if he had come to me for advice, I would have told him
to go for the penny in the shilling.’

He saw the look in my face and got entangled in arith¬
metical calculations.

'The fact is percentages are out of my depth but a penny is
good solid cash. At the vestry we argued for hours whether
we should spend twopence or a penny threefarthings on
something but passed over sums like a hundred thousand
pounds without comment,’ he explained. T don’t suppose they
have changed.’

I was glad we avoided a collision on the question of money.
If I had maintained that money was the most important thing
in life he would have put the case against much better than I
ever could. He would have reminded me of those hectic and
satisfying days when he wrote for the Star and read at the
Museum, when money made no appeal to him, when he was
arguing Marx with Hyndman and Morris and religion with
Bradlaugh and Annie Besant, when he proved at some out of
the way debating society that art was exhausted and heard
from theatre managers that plays without action were unplay¬
able and was advised to stop teaching and get down to
murder. It was a poor livelihood but a rich and happy life.

43

Chapter 4

THERE ARE TWO THINGS G.B.S. HAS NEVER REGRETTED: HIS

birthplace and his marriage. In spite of all the patriotic talk
which seems to convey that we poor humans have a say in the
choice of our birthplace and the colour of our hair and skin,
Shaw will admit that he did not choose to be an Irishman. But
he did choose very deliberately his Irish wife. It needed a very
brave woman to marry a man of his temperament. He was a
horse for single harness, if he could be harnessed at all. He
could not brook interference with his personal habits and her
great achievement w-as to turn him into the tidy, obedient and
punctual person he soon became. His advice to women was
the conventional one: 'Get married but never to a man who is
at home all day.’ He explained : 'I go to my hut every morn¬
ing as a man goes to his office because women like men out of
the house, especially men like myself who only sit and think.
I was rebuked by Charlotte the other day when I pointed out
a thing I had discovered for the first time: "It’s been hanging
on the wall for the last thirty years,” she said. And yet I’m
much more of a domesticated person than she. I never wanted
to travel and I have always been interested in diet. But for her
I would probably still have been living in Fitzroy Square,
unless I were crowded out by the stuff accumulating in my
room. In my shelter I can be as untidy as I like and so I can
always lay my hands on a thing when I want it.

'You give the impression in your plays that it is the woman
who has to go running after man, but man is such a static
creature that not much running is needed. The running starts
after marriage, when they have to run a house, run a family

9

■ • •

44

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'You know what a French journalist said when he saw my
home: "I thought I was to meet England’s most advanced
thinker, and what do I find? A bourgeois interior and
Madame who has all the appearance of being your wife! ” ’

'He must have been very disappointed. What could he have
expected of the author of The Quintessence of Ihsenism ? I
had a similar experience when I was invited to the home of
an extreme modernist and found him living in a pretty
thatched cottage. Did he expect to find you in peasant smock
and sandals?’

'I tried sandals but they didn’t work. Edward Carpenter
made them. He thought he’d make an honest living by the use
of his hands. If he had used his brains he would have seen
that the living gained by manual work would never have sup¬
plied him with books and music and the leisure and freedom
necessary for the writing of Towards Democracy. He was one
of the early people who idealized the manual worker. A great
mistake. William Morris made the same mistake but if all
workers lived like William Morris I would have had to
change my tune. Anyhow these people never knew how to
speak to workers. I did. Have you ever met W. H. Davies?’

'The supertramp?’

‘There is only one Davies as there is only one Smith, Adam
Smith, and only one Morris, William Morris. Give these
people different Christian names and they lose identity
George Davies or George Smith or George Morris! It must
have been my father’s comedic sense of anticlimax that caused
me to be called George.’

‘I knew Davies very well,’ I said. 'The person who helped
him greatly was Edward Thomas who placed a cottage in the
country at his disposal to give him an opportunity to write ’

What on earth made him do that? The best nature poetry
has always been written in towns.’

Edward Thomas was himself a considerable poet. He told
me of a certain literary giant, whom he approached as a young
man, who kept him following at his heels for half an hour

45

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

while he was doing other business. When the famous person
looked into the poet’s face and saw its weariness and disgust,
he said : "You must follow me if you want a bone to pick.” ’

'I always kept off literary giants,’ G.B.S. said. 'It was from
men of established reputation that we learnt that William
Blake was mad.’

'W. H. Davies put down his simple speech, the joy of his
poetry, to the fact that he kept away from men of sharp wit.’

’Yes,’ G.B.S. agreed, 'that is why modest and unassuming
fellows like myself have to develop horns to keep off men of
sharp wit. Davies wrote simply and joyously because he was a
poet and not a cultured literary gent.’

'If another person wrote:

Say what you like
All things love me!

Horse, Cow and Mouse,

Bird, Moth and Bee.

we’d consider it an affectation.’

'This came from The Farm House, Kennington! Now I
could have said the very same thing and quite truthfully but
it would not have been poetry. I was spoilt by my wide read¬
ing. He obviously had read nothing but what is written in the
leaves of the trees and in the clouds of the skies.

Of course I had to ask if he had written poetry.

'Have you ever seen the poem I wrote to Ellen. G.B.b.
asked. He recited it as though accustomed to say it often:

•The scene which would a stone unharden
Is but a view from Bernard’s garden.
Here, standing sideways to the dawn
And looking northwards up the lawn,
You see the house that Bernard weeps in
Because his Ellen never peeps in’

His reading could make the tritest stuff sound great I said:
•I don't know how people have got the jmpres>«
meant to batter your way into fame and that yo

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

whom you hurt and what pain you gave as long as it served
your purpose.'

'As a picture of my state of mind when I crossed the
Channel nothing could be falser. As far as I had any resolu¬
tions or intentions at all, I left Ireland because I realized there
was no future for me there. London was the centre of litera¬
ture, art and music for me; for in the interval between Lee’s
emigration and the literary and dramatic revival led by Yeats
and Gregory, Dublin was a desert and as to conquering
London I no more dreamt of such a possibility than the
poorest Irish peasant or a tramp living in a Kennington doss-
house conquering the United States. I went into England as
England went into this war—completely unprepared. My shy¬
ness and sense of inferiority were a hindrance and I managed
by sheer perseverance to overcome my natural disinclination
to make a laughing stock of myself. I knew that a man never
tells you anything until you contradict him, especially in this
country where everything was so false that to contradict was
to be true. By contradicting everybody and everything I found
people were actually prepared to listen to me. I developed my
mental muscles at their expense. Luckily as a realist I had my

world of fantasy to fall back upon but I knew which was
which.'

The evening grew chilly, a thrush sang in the apple tree

and we became aware that the plough had stopped in the ad¬
jacent field.

Tve been trying to get some decent bread since I've been

in England,’ Shaw complained. 'What do you do about
bread?’

‘We manage to get quite decent bread.’

I suppose we would never have worried about his domestic

habits unless he had called our attention to them. We took for

granted that he could have anything he wanted. He had the

means and, besides, the whole world worried about him He

had an overflow of the things all needed desperately ‘ and
could not get. 1

47

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

I’m afraid,' he said, 'I have to eat the things that are put
before me as long as they are vegetarian. My meals are dread¬
fully monotonous.’ He tasted our bread and liked it.

'That's more like the bread of my childhood,’ he exclaimed.

We were practically a besieged country and everything im¬
ported had to go through fire and water.

'We are feeling that we have no right to beauty nowadays,’

I said.

'Stuff and nonsense! You and I have not made this war.
Besides you mustn't fall into the same error as I did in think¬
ing that your feeling for beauty is universal. It’s a precious
gift. When I look back I realize that it was the beauty of Ire¬
land that has made me what I am.’

He searched his pockets and while searching he told us that
he objects to lining for his clothes. At last he brought out the
photograph of Torca Cottage on Dalkley Hill which Lee gave
over to the Shaw family.

'The view from this hill is not surpassed anywhere I have
ever been. It was the happiest moment in my life when my
mother told me we were going to live there.’

We looked at this photograph for some time trying to bring
back the people and their life in the home between Dublin
Bay and Killiney Bay, where the mother sang and where Lee,
the all-pervading Lee, the crank who was to play such an im¬
portant part in moulding the defiant G.B.S., lived as one of
them. The mother worshipped Lee and G.B.S. met a man who
defied superstition by sleeping with his window open and
challenging the night air to do its worst, and even ate brown
bread and survived. The lean boy was bewitched by the
beauty, the rocks to be surmounted, the wildness to be inhaled

and the sense of unique possession.

'Lee, George John Vandaleur Lee, was a professional music

master and my mother went to him to have her voice trained.
He converted her to his method of voice production a metho
based on facts and not assumptions. He had black side
whiskers, a chin and was lame and his personality was

48

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

mesmeric. He regarded my mother as a discovery and from the
day of his arrival nothing counted with her save music.’

It was obvious we were going to hear much of this man.
G.B.S. carefully placed this photograph in his pocket and
drank the orange juice by him.

To get back to art: the question is how are we going to
make the world safe for artists?’

’No political party would ever sweep the polls on that cry,’
I suggested.

I don t know so much. Anyhow leave the war and politics
out of it. You are always dragging in irrelevant side issues.
The point is there are not going to be any more private pat¬
rons of the old style. Prices must come down within the means
of the people. My chauffeur and my gardener, if they wanted
something pretty for their walls to cover up a soiled patch
might then be able to buy a painting. This idea of selling a
painting by the foot, or inch if you like miniatures, appeals to

me. Madox Brown was paid by the foot for his great Man¬
chester paintings.’

’Napoleon, believing that artists, like soldiers, marched on
their stomachs, also had the same idea.’

’We had many ideas in common. It is fatal to neglect the
stomach. It is of no use declaring: "I am what I am, take me
leave me. I did it, it s tme, but then I was always indiffer¬
ent to my welfare. I didn’t want much. I had so many un-
remunerative things to do, like writing novels and addressing

hlrt. S j W ?if n 1 WaSn 1 electioneeri "g *at I couldn’t be
bothered with increasing my income. But then I was a fool. I

lad a letter recently from a successful artist, Sir William

Rothenstein, and he says that, as neither the state nor the

church offers work to the artists, they are of necessity parasites

fl!tt a / Ub TK ^ °° k t0 thCm f ° r eventual P rofit or social
n f n ^' ^ ^ come dependent on dealers. So long as the
painter and sculptor are not servants of the state, they have to

p«trs —»- *"<”•*s

49

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'There must be adventure, the constant rediscovery of the
familiar world. That is why the young rush to art nowadays
as the Elizabethans used to rush to sea.’

'Culture and life have grown so far apart,’ G.B.S. ex¬
plained, 'that one goes into culture to avoid life, then into the
war to avoid culture. Personally, I condemn the substitution
of sensuous ecstasy for intellectual activity, this over-indul¬
gence in the nude.’

We heard tip-tap, tip-tap, hard against the brick. A thrush
was banging a snail on our terrace.

'There,’ said Shaw, we have a consummate artist making a
wretched living, not only driving a snail out of its home, like
a slum landlord, but consuming it.’

'In other words, he has got down to business.’

He pondered and said, *1 realize the full significance of the
singular fate which has led me to play with all the serious
things of life and to deal seriously with all its plays.

50

Chapter 5

'what is the name of that flower?’ g.b.s. asked as

we stood in the garden by the herbaceous border, a mass of

gold and purple. Surely he knew, for had he not lived in the

country so many years? But he insisted, pointing to a clump
of golden rod. r

'This is golden rod?’

'Golden rod, yes, golden rod. I have no memory for names

of flowers and country things generally. I'm not a W H

Hudson. I like flowers about me of course, and the wilder the

better. I don't like cut flowers, though. The rector is the one

for flowers, he knows them all by name, like a shepherd his

sheep Have you seen him lately? He looks well on the way
to Golders Green.’ 1

No, I had not seen him for a long time.

. ' H r e W “ ‘ a ! ki "g about y° u the other day,’ G.B.S. continued,
and I asked him why the best people don't go to church. His

reply was quite good for a clergyman. "For the same reason

P'°P‘ e tf't go to a doctor." I pointed out that
Healthy people should go to a doctor because it is the doctor's

ttn to dTT] ' ■ 1 3 th ° r0Ugh medical exaraina -

hon to-day and was passed as fit but I shall probably die like

Beethoven, shaking my hands at a thunderstorm. I know a

fhTnk n t !t° w “ art ° f being bedridden but 1 don’t
thinkJ like it. I can only rest by doing a hard spell of work'

look forward to the time when all people will at least

rettfl“ fo “. houts ' work a day to keep healthy, and the
rest of the time they can have to themselves.’ 1

I do not know why he mentioned death or beine bedridden
cause he, himself, looked extraordinarily well. In fact-^hep

9o63 5 S

''

Li f.itrV'

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

we talked and walked we forgot difference in age except, of
course, when he became reminiscent, and then we realized
that the people who had become historic figures to us, he had
known personally. He went on: 'A person should put an end
to himself when he finds he is giving pain and anxiety to his
friends. It isn’t his own pain which matters so much. That’s
always exaggerated by the other person: one can get used to
almost anything. When I was staying with William Morris,
his favourite daughter had one of her fits, a terrifying experi¬
ence but Morris told me of it in a matter of fact way as if he
was announcing breakfast. He really loved Jenny and told
her everything; his letters to her revealed the man as nothing
else did; a mix up of art, rowdy meetings, translations of
Homer, fights for free speech, attacks on the upper class and
at the same time designing wallpaper and tapestry for them.
It was the power of the strong man anxious to accomplish
something before his death. I myself have always behaved as
a child with long years of growth before me. He simply
couldn’t understand why people quarrelled when they had a
glorious end in view, forgetting that people can never be
friends unless they can quarrel. If they can quarrel like my¬
self without malice all the better, but not many have made a
fine art of quarrelling. When, in the good old comradely
days each was calling the other a liar, a rogue and a bour¬
geois, it was meant to hurt: fellowship was life and what a

life!’

'Tolstoy like Morris disliked being argued with,’ I said.
He would go out of the room in a rage and bang the door
behind him and then return immediately. "Forgive me,” he
would say, "all my life my temper has been the worst thing I
have had to contend with. When I think I have gained the

victory then I am overpowered.” ’

He was a simple man, if ever there was one. People talk

about Saint Joan as being a simple peasant girl; peasants are
never simple, it’s the great who are simple. A great man is
only half per cent different to the ordinary person but that

52

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

little means very much indeed: they can go with the great
man so far and then have to stop because they can’t see any
further, while he can. That is why the great man must learn
to abide his time, but unfortunately even the great man is im¬
patient, instead of being as a child he grows into an uneasy
adolescent.’

For the first time he came in the morning. Luckily we were
at home that day. He simply couldn’t settle down to his
writing that day.

'Did the wretched planes keep you up?’ he asked.

'No. We were firewatching on a London roof and neither
die searchlights nor the noise of the planes awakened us when
it was our turn to go off duty.’

'We humans can get used to anything vile. It’s only beauty
we can t stand, and truth, of course. As a fatherlandless per¬
son I’m right out of the war but all the same the war may be
a good thing if it brings the nations together. Even quarrelling
is better than living apart as every married couple will tell you.’

Why had he broken the even course of his routine this
morning? I knew he would come to it but he was moving in a
mysterious way. He continued: ’If I had died at the age of
Shelley and Keats, I would have left behind nothing but a
tew rejected manuscripts, very neatly written in long-hand.
I was too lazy and timid by nature to lay hold of half the
opportunities or a tenth of the money that a conventionally
ambitious man would have grasped. Like an ass it was my lot

to t Tnt i to bave deve , lo P ed a good ear, to work hard and
to be content with plain fare, and naturally to be underesti-

Ttht^J ^ humai \ bein S- Now w hy am I telling you
all (his? I always put down my strength to my power of for-

gtting things not immediately useful to me but I seem now to

m ,l trifleS / nd for S etti "S agencies. Now. "

An Admiral butterfly, a beautiful eager thing had Derrhefl
on a mushy decaying potato that had yielded a fine cron f

potatoes and even in state attractedCty to Leif P

53

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Is that a flower?’ he asked.

'No, a butterfly.’

’Some of these things go travelling right across the seas.
I’m more like a rooted tree.’

A tree that stood tall and erect, with his roots exposed to
the world. He continued :

'I haven’t done too badly. When you consider who we were
who set out to reverse the basis of society: a few refugees
working in the British Museum, a few spouters, a few saints
and one or two cracked writers and artists who spoilt their
limited chances of ever making a livelihood, and now capi¬
talism is reeling and rocking. I know too much about boxing
to take for granted that capitalism is going to be counted out.
What seems a deadly blow often makes no impression. It’s
had to take some hard knocks: The Fabian Essays , my Intelli¬
gent Woman’s Guide , and soon my new book, A Gentle
Swing to the Left.’

He left behind some galley proofs for me to read.

We awoke very early to find the house captured. Soldiers in
full battle-dress stood idling outside and armoured cars and
deadly tanks lined the lanes past Shaw’s Corner and through
the village. The village had been taken by the 'Germans
who had a pleasant Northern dialect and a thirst for good
strong tea. I had to show my identity card even when I
brought out the drink and a packet of cigarettes. They in¬
formed me that they had got the English just where they
wanted them; they were caught in a trap and would be
smoked out. And they wouldn’t go before they had got Shaw s

I hadto leave the poor helpless village to the mercy of these
intruders. On my way to the station I was asked fifteen times
to show my identity card and though I was carrying a very
large suit-case which might have been filled with dangerous
matter, I was never asked to show the contents. When I re-
turned they were still there.

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Shaw came round as excited as a schoolboy. He wanted to
know whether they were interfering with us. He said:

'One managed to get hold of me and demand an auto¬
graph. He looked a harmless sort of fellow, bushy eyebrows,
terrific chin and great heavy shoulders, the kind of chap who
wouldn’t hurt a Shaw. I let him have it but told him not on
any account to show it to anybody else. I noticed a terrific
crowd round him looking and examing my writing. I find my¬
self with the same tendency to judge people by their writing.
When Davies sent his poems out of the blue, I guessed the
character of the man before I had read a word. His hand¬
writing was remarkably delicate and individual, the sort of
handwriting one might expect from Shelley. In the same way
as an artist an tell a Derby winner by the look of the horse,
so I wept when I discovered that here was a real poet. Morris
estimated his income from poetry as a hundred a year, and
Browning threatened to leave the country when the surveyor
of taxes assessed him for an imaginary figure derived from his
poems. If I, a successful dramatist, received a manuscript from
a person with my handwriting, I would know at once that he
was cut out for a successful novelist, or failing that, a success¬
ful actor, or failing that, a successful jurist, or failing that, a
bishop, arch most certainly. I said I left them examining my
writing and deciding on my fate. Saudek, the handwriting
expert, found a certain resemblance between my handwriting
and Napoleon s: a pronounced final emphasis of pressure.
Very acute. Napoleon could develop new techniques to meet
new situations, but we go the dear old way though every¬
thing has changed. We still are presenting arms and forming
fours.... I suppose it will come out all right in the end; with
a fool everything comes out well in the end. The German ma¬
chines, the very latest, will be obsolete by the time we atch up
and then we’ll have the latest devices and the Germans will fall
to pieces. It’s a diabolical business and I’m done with the devil.’

He certainly looked more like Santa Claus than the devil at
that moment. He continued:

55

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

I must put up a notice, something more original than
"Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted.” What about: "Original
Thinker, Beware!”? That will keep them away.’

When the invaders left, everything seemed different. We
had grown to like the presence of these jolly youngsters and
now the lanes looked deserted. One soldier only, a lance-
corporal, was left behind to see that all was left as it should be
and while he was having tea with us, G.B.S. came in.

The soldier was saying: 'I've got a few Gilbert Murrays in
my kit bag which I read on an evening.’ He told us that he
hoped to get back to Oxford if he was young enough when
the war ended.

'Your vowels are not Oxford,’ Shaw said, 'they are not bad
enough for that. ... They're Yorkshire.’

I thought I successfully disguised the fact,’ the soldier
replied. He left us to go on with his military duties, clearing
tins and broken glass out of the way.

'I must get my alphabet going again. This war is a nuis¬
ance. Do you know if they have a choir in the local church,
if so I can quite understand why the rector is hanging on to
life. The prospect of having to listen to cherubim for all eter¬
nity is enough to deter anybody from the practice of virtue.’

’Your heaven is here,’ I suggested.

He challenged this statement.

'Heaven indeed! I’ve had to go through a treadmill of an
office, my home in Dublin was a torture and my school was a
prison. I had to go without decent clothes and food in London
for years. I’ve had to undergo all kinds of indignities.
When I worked at the office the firm extracted from me
an assurance that I would not discuss religion or politics
because I made no secret of my opinions. I agreed and my
conscience has not been easy to this day on account of this
promise.’

After seeing him off to his gate, I walked through the park
and towards the church. I heard singing and went in. I found

56

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

a dozen youngsters yelling at the top of their voices. They
were not of the village but had made themselves at home in
God’s house. 'Roll out the Barrel* was followed by 'If you
were the only Girl’, and then a tune with which I was
not yet familiar but it seemed to amuse them a good deal.
Suddenly they became aware of my presence and fled in all
directions.

I do not know why I felt these tunes out of place consider¬
ing they kept up the spirit of our soldiers and of the folk at
home, the front line of air resistance. I was sorry they de¬
parted in that fashion.

The rector looked ill and depressed. He sat staring at us.

'I’ve had a good life,’ he mumbled in a thin and tired voice.
I d like to come back to see all the changes that are certain to
take place. I ve seen many changes already, there were times
when I was in the slums I could not walk through my parish
without being called after but now, though religion is declin¬
ing the behaviour of the people has improved beyond recogni¬
tion. I feel the people are eager to live cleanly and to
give their children more than they had. And I’d like to

fill up some of the gaps in my own life. It’s silly leaving it
unfinished.’

G.B.S. came in and at once started bantering.

There’s nothing worse than a lingering illness,’ he said.

111 miss your fun, Mr. Shaw, even more than my garden.

Many people can say that you sent them to the grave

aligning because the war has made you more popular than
ever.’ r r

'I was never so serious in my life.’ Shaw folded his arms
threw back his head and declared: 'You treat death as normal
and respectable and do nothing about it except to bless it. I
treat it as a ghastly and avoidable nuisance and demand a
remedy. You do not treat poverty in the same way. They did

mil C lT al0n L In 7c Cyde 0f five P la ? s - Back 10 M *‘h-

iah > 1 demanded a lifetime of three hundred years for

57

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

maturity and condemn the present system of governing as
mischievously adolescent.’

'Why only three hundred years?’ the rector asked teasingiy.
'Don’t you think that in three hundred years you will probably
want another hundred years for your complete fruition? The
heart never grows better by age; I fear rather worse, always
harder. In my youth I was an evangelist, my heart was on fire
and I thought I could never rest until the evils I saw were
remedied, but now I almost seem to acquiesce.’

'I said once,’ G.B.S. retorted, 'that every man over forty
who acquiesces is a scoundrel.’

The rector shook his head gently. 'In that case,’ he said,
'this is a regular thieves’ kitchen. I agreed with Somerset
Maugham, a Christian if ever there was one. He says: "In
my twenties the critics said I was brutal, in my thirties they
said I was flippant, in my forties they said I was cynical, in
my fifties they said I was competent and now in my sixties
they say I am superficial.’

Shaw turned this to his advantage. When we cease being
brutally frank we cease being sincere. You clergymen have
never faced up to things because you took your philosophy
ready made.’

'Well,’ said the rector undisturbed, 'it was, and is, a jolly
sound philosophy. We have certainly not gone further than
the Sermon on the Mount. It is still the way of life. You
should read it.’ He got up to go, extending a hand of long
sensitive fingers, and with a charming smile quoted his
favourite author: 'There is something to be said for old age. Old
age brings along with its ugliness the comfort that you will
soon be out of it. To be out of the war, out of debt, out of the
blues, out of the dentist's hands, out of second thoughts,
mortifications, remorses that inflict such twinges and shooting
pains, out of the next winter and the high prices ...

G.B.S. roared with laughter. 'He consciously watches Ins
descent like an airman who leaves his burning plane. There s
more method in my frivolity than you think.

58

Chapter 6

GETTING ABOUT IN THE BLACKOUT IN TOWN WAS A DEADLY

experience even to me, who was accustomed to groping my
way in the pitch dark. I had grown to accept darkness when
walking, but sitting in a bus with blinds down and blocking
out streets while a raid was in progress was a fantastic experi¬
ence. It certainly had not the sense of security given by a ship
of light travelling in a sea of darkness. The girl conductor,
doing her utmost to be extra cheerful, suddenly announced:

'Anyone wants John Lewis’s? You can’t have it if you do.
It’s gone, it’s vanished. I know it’s a shame, because they had
the very things you need fer yer next birthday! ’

What trust we put in the driver! With a minimum of light
to guide him, he had to change his routes to circumvent the
newly damaged roads. However much we prided ourselves on
our independence, we realized as we had never realized
before how mutually dependent we were; we lived on trust.

When I ultimately reached King’s Cross it was out of
action and I had to travel hopefully to Finsbury Park. To get
to the nearest station to my home, I went a dreary slow route
to Hertford and by another train to within eight miles of my
home and then there was nothing left but to walk.

What does one think about in a long journey among silent
brooding passengers with a light much too dim for reading >
Strange memories came trickling into consciousness, distant
forgotten incidents and faces. I thought of Gilbert Cannan
and our walk across the common, years and years back, the

Z ^ t* Wh Z he ‘ ived ■ • ' He was the coming novelist
* Z 1 read L h,S WOrks with a* gmatest eagerness, and
now where was he? Where were his books? The last time !

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

had met him was with Lytton Strachey: both were to appear
before a tribunal and they were not at all sure of their answers
to the questions usually put by the military representatives.
What would you do if a German attacked your grandmother?
'Get in between,’ suggested Lytton Strachey, but Gilbert
Cannan would have argued with him! . . .

What would I have done if that murderous looking man in
the corner took a strong dislike to me and attacked? A stupid
question; we were both actually dozing helplessly in our
corners.

I had an appointment that evening with G.B.S. and it did
not matter very much because he kept late hours, rarely retir¬
ing before midnight. Not only did he manage to live much
longer than most people, but his day was also longer. When
I told him why I was so late he said that the one thing
Mussolini had done for Italy was to get the trains to run on
time. In England, he thought, we were getting worse than the
Russians in that respect.

'I had taken it for granted you were killed,’ he said un¬
emotionally.

'I have no doubt you will outlive me,’ 1 assured him.

'Well, you never know. I have outlived all my friends.

I wondered here if he knew what happened to Gilbert

Cannan.

'Gilbert Cannan! Isn't he the fellow who said that the
doing of something awful was a necessary preliminary to find¬
ing oneself? There must be many finding themselves nowa¬
days. The most awful thing that one can do is to tell the truth.
It's all right in my case because I am not taken seriously.
Samuel Butler got away with his life because they didn’t know
when he was jesting and when he was serious. I must have
been the only man of consequence who took him seriously.
I said at the dinner in his honour if I were the only sensible
man left in the world I would still maintain that Butler was
right in his main contentions, he laid stress on the importance
of money, and he also laid stress on the importance of luck:

60

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

to be unlucky is a crime. The real reason why Butler was un¬
known during his lifetime was that he was always showing
wherein accepted people were wrong so that they were afraid
of openly approving him lest he should turn and rend them.
I turned on him once: I said that I regarded his chapter on
the "Rights of Vegetables” as a direct attack on myself and
attacking me has always been the special prerogative of H. G.
Wells! *

'Wells has surely exhausted his vocabulary by now.’

'Oh, dear no. He now regards me as a typical Englishman
and if the world were destroyed there would still be left a
sufficient number of photographs of myself to help the
Almighty to reconstruct Man. Otherwise why was it that
wherever he went he was always coming up against photo¬
graphs of myself?'

He showed me half a dozen recent photographs of himself
and gave me a critical analysis of each of them. He not only
knew his features but knew the significance of every line and
bump. It is a pity that he was never able enough as an artist
to give us a self-portrait.

His voice assumed a tragic air: 'You know the rabbits have

got into my garden. I found an opening made in the hedge.

I don’t want the gardeners to set traps. Not that it matters if

the rabbits eat up all the vegetables because I don’t eat much.

This morning I had to release a rabbit from a trap, a ghastly
experience.’

His blue eyes were watery and dim and his face looked

more wrinkled than I had seen it. In a twinkling his face

resumed its smiling mask. He switched on the wireless and a

crooner informed us in the saddest tones how happy, happy,

appy he was. He switched off immediately with the remark

that it wasn’t religion but the wireless which was the opium
of the people. 1

I told him of a visit to an author one afternoon whom I
found fast asleep with the wireless full on and I had had to
switch off to wake this good man. As soon as I switched off

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

this author woke with a start and cried: 'Who switched off
the wireless?’ He couldn’t stand silence.

Tm all right in that respect. I’m the only one who can
stand my continuous presence and I don’t mind silence.’

The perfect prisoner?’

’No, the free person.’

I stood up to go. He also stood up and said:

'I daren’t see you out. I’m completely blind in the dark.’

’Don’t you come, I’ll let myself out,’ I said.

He opened the door for me and quickly closed it again
because no light dare go out into the night. Before I got
accustomed to the darkness I tripped over some loose bricks
which at once made me realize that I was on the wrong path.
So dark was it and so well was the house blacked out that I
could not find my bearings. I thought I knew his garden but
in the blackness it lost shape and distance. It must have been
like this before light was given to the world. Under such cir¬
cumstances it is possible to go round and round the same
centre of darkness without ever finding the gate. Suddenly
there was a flash of lightning, I got up and walked straight to
the gate and down the lane. Before I reached my home the
rain came down in torrents.

I was mowing the lawn when the small side-gate opened
and G.B.S. almost bounded up the steps. He stood awhile on
the terrace looking at the garden and I walked up towards
him. The sunset was sweeping across the lawn and the fields
beyond leaving trees and bushes afloat in a sea of unearthly

beauty.

He said : ’You are no doubt thinking of the light playing
on tree and lawn. Have you noticed that the beauty of the old
Dame was only discovered after man was divorced from her.
When coal created the miserable slums we call towns then
Wordsworth and Coleridge and Keats came along with their
nature worship. It was left to Karl Marx to lift the lid and
show us what things were really like. He was a great historian

62

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

if not much of a theorist and I owe a great deal to him. Like
all debtors I paid him back by disowning him. He was a wise
man but his disciples were utter fools. They insisted on swal¬
lowing him neat and excommunicating all those who really
understood him, like myself. It was not until the Fabians
came along that England became ripe for Socialism.’

As we went into the house he said: 'I have been thinking,
if the Germans win they may confiscate all I have. Luckily I
need very little for I can manage quite well with my house
here which is bought and paid for, my flat in town and a
couple of cars and the half-dozen servants.’

‘What fun you would have starting all over again,’ I said.
'Your new book will bring you a new fortune.’

‘Yes, everything I do turns to gold,’ and he settled himself
amongst the cushions prepared for him.

'I shall never forget Max Nordan coming to see us after the
last war and telling us how the French Government had
almost reduced him to beggary,’ I said.

‘No, that was my achievement,’ G.B.S. said. 'I knocked
him out completely. I was the only man in the country who
could take him out of his depth and leave him to drown. I
went straight to the top and he went straight to the bottom.’

He was referring to that brilliant article he wrote for Ben¬
jamin Tucker, The Sanity of Art. It was the proudest moment
of his life because William Morris, who had never discussed
art with him before and had only treated him as an un¬
couth political agitator, now took him into the fold and even
listened.

I pointed out that Tolstoy had treated Nordau’s master in
the same way. Lombroso, full of the sense of his import¬
ance, went down to see Tolstoy, boasting to the great man of
the March of Science and the Age of Reason. Tolstoy listened
and then led him quietly to a lake and asked him if he could
swim? Of course there was nothing Lombroso could not do.
Tolstoy dived in; Lombroso followed, went down helpless
and came up shrieking for help. Tolstoy brought him out of

63

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

the water, a wet but chastened man. The lesson was brought
home. 'Even a man who can explain everything sometimes
finds himself helpless.’

Shaw laughed and said mischievously: 'I would have let
him drown. I'm certain the moral was wasted on him. You
know, Tolstoy, like myself, wasn’t taken in by superstitions
like science and medicine.’

'And yet I feel that you must have your pet superstitions.’

'Yes, a man who sees far ahead must talk in parables and
be guided by signs which only he can see or hear.’

'Only he?'

'A man at such times differs as much from himself as he
does from other people.’

'Like yourself 1 prefer the parables of John Bunyan to the
jargon of the materialist. Look at this: "Beyond the episte¬
mological scholasticism of the empirio-criticism it is impos¬
sible not to discern clearly the partisan struggle in philosophy.

»» >

• 0 •

He interrupted me: 'Who on earth said that?’

'Lenin.’

He was not surprised. He answered: ’The reasons by
which men arrive at their conclusions are of little importance.
What is of importance is the fact that they reach certain
results.’

'Did you know that Lenin when in London had little contact
with the British Socialist movement? He made a point, how¬
ever, of visiting the Socialist churches. That proves that Lenin
had something of the "superstitious" in him, considering that
the services there were carried on on similar lines to the ortho¬
dox churches. You drive out one set of superstitions to call
into being another set. I am surprised that there has not come
into being, in a world full of cults, a Life Force liturgy.

He shook his shoulders, saying: 'The Life Force permits of
infinite change and progressive variation but once things are
permitted to settle into a definite system then they cease to be
open to thednspi ration of the Life Force. However, there s

64

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

nothing absurd that hasn’t a religion to back it. What is there
more ridiculous than the religion of tout le monde

There was no indignation in this attitude to tout le monde.
With Swift, indignation sprang from his intuitive sympathy
and affectionate goodwill towards the people, but with Shaw
the democratic machine was grossly inefficient and could
therefore be laughed at as the old-fashioned cars that used to
make much noise and gave up at the first hill. He heartily des¬
pised the animal called Man and said that it was time that it
ceased to fill the world.

'With Man I have to hide my good qualities, otherwise I
would never get on. I mustn’t even praise these qualities lest
he rend me to bits. My only policy is to profess evil and do
good.’

'That smacks of moral cowardice,’ I suggested.

'We’re all moral cowards. There’s not a soul who does not
know that war is wrong but what do we do to those who say
so? Ask C. H. Norman what was done to him because he said
war was wrong. The defence of the moral coward is the old
one, what can one do against so many? If I feed one person
that won’t do away with poverty; if I go to the scaffold for
my principles that won t bring the millennium; if I give up all
my wealth and live like a Gandhi that won’t do away with evil.
We extol democracy and know all the time that the minority
is right. It is a simple matter to tolerate evil but virtue is in¬
tolerable. Most people find no difficulty in doing wrong and

retaining their faith. In fact it is the only way of retaining
one’s faith nowadays.’

This interested me because I have watched right through
my adult life how people reconcile their actions and their
principles. There’s only one thing wrong with the mono¬
theists : they aren’t. They have their gods for each sphere of
life and the compartments are extremely water-tight. Shaw
accepted this conclusion as a matter of course.

Conscience,’ he said, ’is all very well, but it is not univer¬
sally applied; one can have a conscience about one activity and

65

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

be hopelessly immoral about everything else. Take Dubedat
in The Doctor's Dilemma. He’s a saint when it comes to art
but in matters of money and women and almost everything
else, he’s a scoundrel. The person upon whom I based this
character would think nothing of borrowing money because
his wife's allowance was due to come in a few weeks and even
then forget to return the money, and as to women ... he was
a rogue! ’

'Was he an artist?’

No. He was a scientist.’

'Then why did you portray him in your play as an artist?
William Morris wasn’t like that, nor was Burne-Jones ...”

He dismissed this, rather petulantly.

'Anyhow, I gave them good value for their money.’

I walked up to my bookcase and produced a very old copy
of The Doctor’s Dilemma , published in the sixpenny novel
series with pages and pages of patent medicine advertisements.

'Well, it paid for the publication!’

He was anxious to get away because Charlotte was expect¬
ing him. On the way to the gate I expressed anxiety about our
position in the war at the time. He turned to me, put his hand
on my shoulder and said:

'Don’t worry. If the British can survive their meals, they
can survive anything.’

66

Chapter 7

G.B.S. CAME IN AND FOUND TO HIS DISMAY THREE LITTLE

boys stretched on the floor painting. They had discovered the
joy of colour and were indulging their imagination. Nothing
was too difficult for them: sky and hill, cow and aeroplane,
all came sweeping on to the large sheets of paper. Their eyes
glistened with pleasure as they saw their work taking shape
and they took no heed of our visitor who seemed to resent the
presence of these, the poorest children in the village.

He said to Clare: 'Why do you waste your time with these?’

'Wasn’t it you,’ I answered, 'who said: "fine art is the only
teacher except torture?” ’

'Nonsense! A child must learn the multiplication table
before it is offered Michelangelo’s Sistine frescoes or Beet¬
hoven’s Ninth. Without language, and, at least, elementary
mathematics a child would grow up virtually deaf and dumb.’

'And yet, if you had had the right kind of art teaching it
might have changed the course of your life,’

'Yes, we all wanted to be artists in those days. Oscar Wilde
and Chesterton actually studied at the Slade School and be¬
came quite good writers. It is a peculiar thing but it is necessary
to fail in art to become a very witty and successful writer. But
what these poor children should learn is the difference between
the traveller and the highwayman. They must be made to learn
that they must become serviceable and productive members of

,J? mmunity or ^ wili come down with a tumble! ’

\ asked ’ ’ you wouId have these children educated
differently from the rich?’

‘Of course. We must have special schools to train the
adimnistrators, the people who will get the four figure jobs.
And by training, I mean training.’

67

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

This statement was so contrary to all the things he had
written about education that I had to say: 'How can we pre¬
vent the organization of child life becoming the sport of
doctrinaires like ourselves?'

He answered: 'We can’t prevent any human activity being
dominated by doctrinaires. Wrong doctrine will finally dis¬
credit itself by its failure and sound doctrine will establish
itself by its success.'

'If you had a child what kind of schooling would you
arrange for him or her?’

His head drooped a little, then he said:

'If I had a child I should have to take what our social
organization offered. Many who were schooled at Eton, Har¬
row, Winchester or Rugby, and graduated at Oxford or Cam¬
bridge have criticized and denounced these schools fiercely,
but they have had to send their sons to them all the same, faute
de mieux. Proletarian parents arc equally bound to the nearest
elementary school.’

'But if a child complained abouthaving to go toschool at all ? ’

'I would explain as best I could, and it is extremely difficult
for a parent to explain anything to a child, that it must if it
was to be allowed to go without a nurse and have money in its
pockets to spend as it likes.’

'In other words,’ I said, 'a child without any form of educa¬

tion would grow up a defective?’

'Would grow up intolerable as a wild cat. I must make it

clear, however, that mere knowledge of facts and inferred
reasoning will not by themselves produce culture; they may
lead to disaster without comprehension of the function o
aesthetics in biology and of metaphysics in morality.

We both said nothing for a while and I could not help see¬
ing a tall thin boy going off to Eton, very precisely dressed and
crammed with all the dos and don’ts of behaviour. Would he
have been prepared in the right politics and the right
religion so that his life there at Eton should be comfort¬
able? I was even following him to Cambridge, the holder

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

of a mathematical scholarship, when G.B.S. himself said:

'It is perhaps as well that I haven’t a child. A genius never
produces satisfactory progeny.’

'Like everything about you, this child might have been the
exception,’ I suggested.

He would not be flattered. 'Have you noticed that children
invariably take after their grandparents?’

So while I had endowed his son with a genius for mathemat¬
ics, G.B.S. saw him secretly drinking and laughing at failure.

If all life were like The Idiot and everybody went about
turning out their inmost hearts, if like William Morris, he had
a touch «f epilepsy in his composition, then I would have
learnt much at that moment, instead he asked for the wireless
and we were regaled with a jolly tune from Gilbert and
Sullivan’s lolanthe .

'Ibsen could do that kind of thing much better. Do you
remember the chorus in Love’s Comedy ?’ I said, and read it:

'Welcome, welcome, new plighted pair
To the merry ranks of the plighted!

Now you may revel as free as air,

Caress without stint and kiss without care,

No longer of footfall affrighted.

Now you are licensed, wherever you go,

To the rapture of cooing and billing;

» Now you have leisure love’s seed to sow,

Water, and tend it, and make it grow;

Let us see you’ve a talent for tilling! ’

’As I said,’ G.B.S. laughed, 'marriage is popular because it
combines the maximum of temptation with the maximum of
opportunity.’

I found G.B.S. standing beneath a clump of pines in the
lane, staring in the direction of the park. The sun was going
down and a grey mist was creeping over the church.

Those bushes must be cut away; they hide the church ' he

complained. ’

c*

69

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'Elected churchwarden?’ I asked.

He took me seriously: 'No, certainly not.'

He was in a grim mood. Two or three women passed us to
put flowers on the graves, forget-me-nots and marigolds and
they did not notice us. He said:

'I must have been an insufferable child, all children are. I
forget the things that happened yesterday and remember the
things that happened eighty years back as if they were yester¬
day. I indulged in cruelties that didn't turn a hair of my head.
No child should be unaware that if it provokes its elders be¬
yond endurance, it will get its head clouted without regard to
the possible consequences. Corporal punishment is not effec¬
tive unless it is really cruel, which it seldom is. I was never
punished at home and at school the teachers were too indiff¬
erent to work up the cruelty necessary to get me to do my
lessons. Without Lee I would have remained a barbarian. It
was he who proved to me that the world could be safely defied.
I’ve never turned back. I’ve always slept with an open window,
ate brown bread. When I stayed with William Morris at
Kelmscott and slept in mid-winter with windows wide open,
my jug was frozen deeper than any one else s.

'Morris was not a vegetarian.’

'Mrs. William Morris had to have her meat. She regarded
my diet as a suicidal fad. There are people to-day who regard
it so in spite of the fact that I’m on the way to ninety. They
still look upon a meatless day as a penance, as they look upon
all pleasures. It probably is: a man who dropped his aitches
was preferable to a man who dropped his meat. She did not
conceal her contempt for my folly. When I dined with them
my appetite returned, as it always does at the sight of a par¬
ticularly nice pudding. Mrs. Morris pressed a second helping
on me which I consumed to the entire satisfaction of the
family. Then she said : "That'll do you good, there is suet in
it!” That was the only remark she ever allowed herself to make
to me. When I die, if I ever will, it will be put down to my diet.

I’m alwaysgoing across thecourseof nature; I deliberately chose

70

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

the path of most resistance and rose by the force of gravity.'

He put in a word for his youthful rival who was very much
in the news. 'Winston Churchill smokes, drinks and eats meat
and has managed to survive. Of course, if we stop killing
animals and insects, they’d kill us. It is a matter of who is to
survive, after all. Rabbits, tigers and fleas must be slain and so
should incorrigible criminals, dangerous lunatics and idiots. Of
course, ’headded generously, 'theoperationshouldnotbecruel.’

I suggested that under certain circumstances he himself
might have been considered incorrigible and dangerous. 'You
may remember,’ I said, when Tolstoy was excommunicated
from the church by the Holy Synod of Russia he was derided
and pointed at: "Look! There goes the devil in human
form!” If you had your way Tolstoy would have gone the
way of rabbits, tigers and fleas; so, I have no doubt, would
Samuel Butler, for not accepting in full Darwin’s theories.’

'I was considered as monstrous as Tolstoy, after the publi¬
cation of my Commonsense of the War. I was, as a matter of
fact, excommunicated from every tennis club, every golf club
and even from the Butchers’ Guild; in short, from every
religious order. I had to stop doing all the things I never
wanted to do and never did.’ He paused a while and then
continued: 'For myself I am well satisfied. Success comes
streaming in on me from every side.’

The immediate problem for us was how to get the cows
away from the gate, which led out of the park and into the
lane. The cows had settled comfortably and obstinately on the
high grass and nothing would move them.

'Anyhow,’ G.B.S. said, 'they fit more happily into the land¬
scape than humans. We’ll have to wait.’

We stood beneath the old sycamore and admired the peace¬
ful scene. r

It s all extremely artificial, this natural scene. Keir Hardie
must have had such a scene in mind when he called the Mem¬
bers of Parliament well-fed beasts.’

'Comfort and security seem to destroy the power of action,'

71

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'Call no man comfortable or secure while I am still alive.
Nobody can yet be sure of what I shall be up to next or
whether I shall die in my bed or be hanged. Remember it was
Swift who was the inventor of the phrase: "sweetness and
light”—and he is now reputed to be the most embittered
misanthrope in history. The man who dares to suggest that
comfort, security and happiness are the objects of life deserves
die fate destined for these beasts.’

Suddenly, as if a cow had stood on its hindlegs and found
speech, we heard: 'What luck! Here is the greatest man on
earth. I’ve always wanted to meet you.’

G.B.S. turned and looked her up and down with a smile.
He placed her by her speech, by her clothes and her well-
groomed appearance. I saw him make up his mind as to which
Shaw to enact. In his gentlest voice he said:

'These cows won’t hurt you.’

'I’d brave a wild bull to meet you,’ she answered.

'I’m the only wild bull in Ayot,’ Shaw assured her.

'If all bulls were like you, as gentle and as approachable,'
she said in the sweetest of tones. 'I simply had to snatch a day
from the horrors of London.’

'Don’t let the war get hold of you,’ he advised.

'How true. I shall always remember your words and espe¬
cially the voice in which you uttered them. I can understand
how well you understood St. Joan. It’s just what I myself
think. I love reading your plays, they take me out of myself
into a kind of dream world where all people are charming and
witty and there’s never an emotional upheaval as in all these
modern works. Whenever I’m in the middle of some awful
raid, I say to myself: "I’m the master of my fate, the captain
of my soul.” ’

'Henley had no sense of fun. When I contributed to toe
Scots Observer , my claim to writing for a Scots paper being

that I’m a direct descendant of Macduff. . . .

'How wonderful! And to think that Shakespeare put an

ancestor of yours into a play.’

72

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

He ignored her ecstatic remark and continued:

'I did some criticism for Henley but we couldn’t agree. You
see I discovered Wagner and Henley hated his music, so I
stopped writing for his paper and naturally people stopped
buying it. I was easily the most original writer of the day.
Frank Harris had an eye for the best people. The silly man
says he picked me out of the gutter. . .

She was quick off the mark: 'What he really meant was that
he picked you out in a junk shop, a precious jewel. I know
because I’ve come back with wonderful things from those
horrid looking shops. You were a Socialist in those days,
weren’t you? And they were in a way junk. You are a phenom¬
enon. I shall never forget this day as long as I live. If I had
been killed yesterday, I should have died without your bless¬
ing. Do you think there is an after-life?’

G.B.S. was beginning to feel ashamed of this contact. He
blurted out:

I don t know. It’s bad enough to have one life.’

I know we’ll meet again,’ was her parting remark.

As we walked down the lane, he said:

'These people who haven’t a thought in their heads are
always the first to give you a bit of their mind. They will
always say sincerely and frankly just what they think. They are
the people in control. The greater the mess they get us into
the greater the opportunity for their finer qualities.’

It was quite chilly but he insisted on being outside and again
assured me he was happiest in the cold weather. He told me

“ “ lfc a ^ i° ke * ^t a precious jar had been broken.’
I said: Is there nothing we can do about it? They’re fear-

y clever at putting bits and pieces together nowadays.’

You re not going to tell me that these things have an after-

of art t I 7 . 6 thmgS With0ut a soul ** survive, not works

lad^L f Wll ' iam Archer wh0 the story of a

■■WhZ zf Z; /T 0ken * nd couldn>t I* consoled.
When friend dies, there is religious consolation," she com-

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

plained, "but with a work of art, there is no such consolation."
I have not this sense of property. Ultimately all property is
theft.’

'But all art is love,’ I suggested.

'Don’t use the word "love,” it means nothing. The worst
things have been done in the name of love.’

'Wasn’t it Galsworthy who said somewhere: "I’ve got a
friend on the Press who’s very keen on Christ and kindness;
and he wants to strangle the last king with the hamstrings of
the last priest.” ’

'Epstein told me that he remembers visiting the Leicester
Galleries when the Christ was on exhibition and noticed a man
just emerging from the room with clenched fist and furious
face. It was John Galsworthy. Have you noticed how men
often typify the very things they attack?’

'Only too often,’ I answered smiling.

'I am amused to think that Christ has found his resting place
at last in a fine old Adam house. Our neighbour. Cherry-
Garrard, has it. It has a nicely lit alcove all to itself. You must
go and see it.’

'What would the Germans do if they got hold of it?’ I asked.

'Once you’re dead, another crucifixion doesn’t make much
difference. . .

I remembered that Epstein wanted to make it a hundred feet
high, set it up on a high place where all could see it to warn
people that peace must be the way of life, and here it was
hidden away in a country house and the world was at war.

G.B.S. continued: 'You should also go down to Tunbridge
Wells and see the fine Morris window in which Burne-Jones
made the figure on the the cross a glorious Greek God. I
personally have a soft spot for Von Uhde’s Christ where He
is depicted as a poor man conversing with men in tall hats, just
people like ourselves. It must have been a pleasant change for
these people to come in contact with an original mind,
shouldn’t think they found much calm and sweetness m him.
. . . What about walking that way?’

74

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

We walked across a field and along a grove.

'There is another thing I learnt from Lee. Nearly all his
best singers were Roman Catholics and acquaintance with
them rooted out of my mind the notion that Catholics were
inferior people not to be associated with and predestined to
eternal damnation. I soon came to like them. I learnt there is
only one religion though there are a hundred versions of it.
The really religious people are not empty. They have dignity,
conviction, sobriety and force. However impossibly narrow
and stupid the mere articles of their creed may be, it is obvious
that they are respectable, efficient, and able to do without

happiness. And they can do extraordinary things, from early
churchgoing to martyrdom. Presently the race develops a
degree of intelligence to which their reverence for the mirac¬
ulous, their belief in it because it is miraculous, is impossible.
You then get two sorts of people, irreligious people, whom no
amount of culture can make otherwise than worthless, and
artists, who find in their art an irresistible motive. But the
artists, having to make extraordinary exertions cannot do it
without extraordinary resources. They must either have re¬
action, in the literal sense of that profoundly significant word,
or else stimulation. Now recreation is the secret of the religious
«fe. You meditate and are profoundly rested and recreated,
i ou die at a stupendous age, unexhausted in spirit
/% most religious experience was Esthetic, when I touched
With my own hand Michelangelo’s Sibyl in the Sistine Chapel
There is always religion if you can reach it, the religion of
Beethoven s Ninth Symphony, the religion which rediscovers
God in man and the Virgin Mother in every carpenter's wife
whidi sweeps away miracle and reveals the old dogmas as the

d f ™ hlch evei T da y facts are only the surface which
sanctifies all life and substitutes a profound dignity and self-

S ; the old materialistic seff. This is tlfe m^ iecl

[f i S, ° nS; W ' th lf ^ can live half a bean a day
f that is all that your bodily well-being requires.' Y '

7S

Chapter 8

IN CERTAIN PARTS OF THE SOUTH SEAS THE MANAGE A TROIS

is the accepted tiling. A child grows up to find a man, his
uncle, before whom the mother almost trembles, whose word
is really law to her and her children. The child soon learns
that this third person is not only to teach them the arts of life
but the rules of conduct. Of course, the father is always there
as well and is merely the man who lives with the mother and
never to be appealed to in serious matters.

G.B.S. explained in greater detail how the menage a trois

came about in his case:

'Lee was a mesmeric conductor and had collected an amateur ,
orchestra, eked out occasionally by a soloist from a military
band. It was Lee who trained my mother to sing and when his
brother died was left alone with an old houskeeper, reputedly
a terror. She was got rid of somehow and our household took
her place. If Lee had not come into the family and I was left
with my mother who was a thoroughly disgusted and disillu¬
sioned woman suffering from a hopelessly disappointing
husband, what would have become of me, I daren’t think
'You would have remained a mute inglorious Milton, l

'I suppose something else would have turned up. My grand
father’s uncle, I am always proud to relate, was hanged as a
rebel. I know this, if I had remained in the office I would have
ended up by murdering somebody and would have bee
hanged before I was born. I would have got into the papers

somehow! ’ , ._.

'It is interesting that the two writers who count most

I said. . . .

76

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

G.B.S. interrupted me:

'Who is the second?’ he asked.

'Wells, of course.’

'There are a lot of horses following well behind and it’s
difficult to make out which is which. Wells’s father was a
cricketer, a professional and therefore not a gentleman, and
his mother a housekeeper in a large country house. My mother
knew nothing of housekeeping, nor of money, nor of hygiene.
His father had to keep fit but my father was a lonely drinker
at the grocer-publican’s. Then Wells had a flair for examina¬
tions, for the storing of a lot of facts, but I was at a disadvan¬
tage in that respect; I could never pass examinations: the only
things that stuck were the things that interested me. And then
I had a nasty unscientific way of rushing to conclusions, leav¬
ing it to men like Wells to supply the evidence. So you see he
had everything in his favour. All the same, he hasn’t done too
badly. In spite of Barrie’s advice that editors always reject
views on politics and reflections on art and theories of life,
we both managed to make money out of these unimportant
subjects. We both thought ourselves original and profound
and in a way we were. The main difference was that I looked
it and he didn’t; I sounded it and he didn’t. He needed above
all a tormentor and I had to take on that role to keep him up

to the mark. I do not mind hurting as long as it makes a
friend of a person.’

‘Didn’t he appeal to you to stop this personal bally-ragging.

It was ridiculous to be competitive and personally compara¬
tive in old age.’ r

That’s the schoolmaster in him; all the world’s a school and
men and women merely dunces. Now then, Shaw, you’re in
the sixth form now, no more ragging. From now, on your best
behaviour! But the man in the sixth form is only the under¬
graduate in university and the graduate is only the junior in a
business. We ve both hardly qualified to be under-secretaries
let alone sages. Wells described William Morris as a poet and
decorator. William Morris might have got nowherebut he

77

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

was pretty near the truth when he said that idle capitalists
were damned thieves, with the word damned not a mere
decoration but a poet's prophecy. I’d rather be led by a poet
than a scientist any day.’

In the same way as William Morris would not have a word
said against Burne-Jones, so Shaw grew furious when Morris
was attacked. I could not help recalling the story of Tyrtaeus,
how nearly two thousand years ago, the Spartans, in their war
against the Dorians, were advised by a sage to choose a leader
from Attica. They applied to the Athenians who purposely
sent them a lame poet. His songs, however, so animated the
Spartans that they won. The lame poet was Tyrtaeus.

'Well, Wells shouldn’t complain. I’ve always been the sin¬
ister figure, urging him not to get excited nor to give way to
eloquent exorcism. . . . He is determined to stay in London; I
hope Hitler will have the common sense to spare him: martyr¬
dom would have a disastrous effect on his works.

'You mean his provisional thinking and tentative proposals

would be transmuted into dogma. . . .’

'I mean he would be canonized and some silly dramatist
would have to waste his precious gift on writing a chronicle
play called St. Herbert. Tolstoy was always hankering after
martyrdom; if that had happened his War and Peace would
be denounced as youthful excess and all his nonsense would
be forced down the minds of gaping villagers.’

'But Wells was violently anti-Catholic?’

'I know, but so was Marx and so was Lenin, but they have
produced a church militant and an inquisition held together
by a common faith and by vows of poverty and chastity.’

'The true saints are not the people in the public eye, I said.

‘That kind of thought leads us nowhere. It may be that full
many a flower is born to blush unseen but that fact should not
take away from the pleasure we have in seeing the flowers
which unblushingly reveal* themselves. Wells is disqualified
for canonization because he didn’t use words not found in any
decent dictionary. Accustomed to making his meaning clear to

78

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

the meanest intelligence, he even corrected his spelling errors.
Now James Joyce was wise. You can’t see his meaning for the
words and so there must be something deep and significant in
what he says. People must spend their lives studying his texts
and allusions and even then they won’t come to the fundament
of his thoughts. I find that in every fifty words I write there
are forty errors.’

I could not help being flippant and suggesting that he
makes a cult of these errors by making them seem deliberate.

'And charging a penny extra! In my case it takes fifty years
for my thought to come through and so I get the effect of
mystery that way. Whenever I come across an original thought
I turn to an old book of mine and find it always better
expressed by myself. There’s no need for me to descend to
subterfuge; all I have to do is to live to a couple of hundred
and see my heresies turn into orthodoxies. Only as I can’t sit
still and do nothing, and don’t like to repeat myself, I have to
contradict my early ideas to appear original and so it goes on.’

He had really come in that day to take a photograph, just
one, and one turned into six at least. This was the only sport
that he permitted himself besides sawing wood.

As I am not an artist,’ he explained this youthful excess
this is the next best thing. When a person excels at some¬
thing he should do something else in which he is a novice
because that brings him down to earth. As I haven’t a family
to distract me and nobody likes a man of eighty.’

Again he told me that he owed his ability to enjoy solitude
to his mother. 7

Apart from Lee my mother never had a friend and never
made the least effort to win my affection, and I certainly made

she e w:: ° W ‘ n u h r S - When my m “ uscri P ts w ere returned
he wasn t m the least interested. I don't think she read a

ngle one of them .She accepted me a burdensome good-for-

she wo “W expect from the son of her
husband. My father at least had satisfaction in seeing my work

<n print and actually praised, but she never referred^ ft The

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

only satisfaction I found in my parents was that neither of
them were celebrities. Mozart's son was only a fair musician
like his grandfather. Mendelssohn’s father complained that he
had begun as the son of his father and ended as the father of
his son. Beethoven's nephew was a scapegoat and none of the
kindred of Shakespeare or Tolstoy achieved any eminence.’

There are one or two exceptions,’ I said.

'You will find that the exceptions in this case do not prove
the rule. The parents had already prepared the soil by the
usual process of ample means and ample opportunity. Look at
Wells with his dreary schoolmastering and look at me, after
five years of commercial servitude I had to burn my boats and
sponge on my mother. Even in the Civil Service, where gifted
people tend to find refuge, I am told they have to work. That s
a great pity; nowadays there are no employments which leave
sufficient leisure to maintain a natural supply of geniuses. The
only thing left is to have reasonable hours of work, say two or
three hours a day, and then no genius would suffer much,
unless like my mother, he's of the kind who prefers to work
himself to death at whatever he is doing. Of course, the work
should be so disagreeable that the genius will want to rush
from his enforced drudgery and not spend a moment too
much. Such work will at least save him from becoming a feck¬
less nuisance, living in an imaginary world and ignorant of
the real one.’

'So we’ve come back to the interminable wrangle about

reality.’ ttwfi . ri _ v , T

'Whenever I see a book starting with "What is reality, i

put it down at once, knowing that he doesn’t know and I will
never know, even if I read all the philosophies of the world.
A philosopher and a matter-of-fact man might cordially agree
with a half-dozen verbal propositions concerning the real
while interpreting them in different and diametrically opposed
senses. A philosopher opposes the reality of the thing to its
mere appearance, but to the matter-of-fact man the appearance
is the reality and things that have no appearance like ideas are

80

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

less real to him than tangible, visible things. There is some¬
thing convincing to him in a brick, when aimed at him, which
he misses in Beethoven. He speaks of hard cash, nothing like
leather, solid British oak with a complete sense of security;
even their hearts are raised to being like oak. He feels com¬
pletely lost when he is faced with something that he can’t lay
his hands on like music or mathematics.’

'Yes, instead of the matter-of-fact man, as you call him,
admitting this lack of understanding, he prefers to think of
the creative man as defective, or at least akin to madness.’

'Most of them are,’ Shaw answered decisively. 'Most of
them are. I am possibly the only sane exception.’

Before he left I told him that next time he came he would
find a new friend to meet him. A look of petulance showed on
his face.

Then I’ll avoid your place like a plague,’ he exclaimed.

Just as you wish. He has come to stay and you will find us
inseparable.’

He came somewhat earlier than usual next time. Eagerly
he inquired about our new friend. But Tinkerbell himself
came forward and would have no formalities. He barked his
welcome, wagging his tail mightily and then lay at the feet of
G.B.S. in a line with the cat.

I must admit I was frightened,’ G.B.S. said, 'when you

mentioned a new friend. Man is the only animal of which I

am thoroughly and cravenly afraid. I don’t want people, they
waste my time.’ 7

'Is that why you instil fear?’ I asked.

‘I, do I?’ He enjoyed this assertion. 'When I was a little boy

I was always playing the devil. My chief delight was to paint

the whitewashed walls of Dalkey with pictures of Mephis-

topheles and even Lee amused himself, at my expense, by

decorating my face to look my future part. As a child dreams

so he becomes. Though not perhaps by the ways and means

he expects. As he spoke his very eyebrows, moustache and
ears affirmed his words.

81

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'Wasn’t it Hazlitt who said: "Man is the only animal that
laughs and weeps: for he is the only animal that is struck
with the difference between what things are and what they
might have been.” ’

’Well,’ G.B.S. retorted, 'the quicker he stopped laughing
and weeping and started thinking a bit it would be better for
him.’

G.B.S. folded his arms and swung his foot violently above
the prostrate form of Tinkerbell, who, with one eye on the
sole of the shoe above, sighed deeply and I was almost afraid
of the impact on his trusting body, but the dog was wiser and
jumped into his favourite arm-chair and listened from that
vantage point.

Full of self pity he recalled his early struggling days again.
He was older now and in London, pacing the National Gallery,
poor and shabby and only able to enter on the free days! He
said : 'I, always on the heroic plane in my thoughts, had two
disgusting faults which I did not recognize as faults because I
could not help them. I was poor and shabby. And because I
could walk into the National Gallery on "free” days and enjoy
Michelangelo, because I could suffer more by hearing a move¬
ment of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony taken at the wrong
tempo, than a duchess losing her diamond necklace, I was
indifferent to the repulsive fact that if I had fallen in love with
the duchess I did not possess a morning suit. That is why I am
all out for the equality of income. The biological argument is

all-pervasive.’

I suggested that the duchess might easily have fallen in love
with him just because of his cycling suit and pathetic poverty.
This annoyed him. 'I could never have kept her in the kind of

life she was accustomed to! ’

‘But surely you never held that you keep a wife ?

'Well, I wanted to marry May Morris, but she was accus¬
tomed to a way of life beyond my means.’

'Yet she married somebody much poorer than yourself,

didn’t she?’

82

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'Yes. My possibility of future eminence was unlimited. I
was already an unsuccessful novelist with not a single novel
accepted and therefore an established genius frowned upon by
the bourgeois publishers. What did Readers like George
Meredith and John Morley know about good work? And as to
May Morris, she knew too many geniuses to be taken in by
another.’

'In that case then the devil proved a good friend and pre¬
vented a disastrous marriage.’

'I was foolish enough to believe that Woman did all the
pursuing. I did not think it necessary to say anything or make
any sign at all. I had no doubt that the thing was written on
the sky for both of us, that all the material obstacles would
melt away and we would live happily ever afterwards. I had
to consummate or vanish. I vanished.*

If you had vanished it would have been all right, but you
joined the young married couple.

83

Chapter 9

Often I had been this way before
And now it seemed / never could be
And never had been anywhere else;

’Twos home; one nationality
We had, I and the birds that sang
One memory.

They welcomed me .. .

EDWARD THOMAS.

C. B.S. TOLD ME THAT ROBERT BURNS WAS HIS FAVOURITE

poet, but I said that I felt more at home with Edward Thomas
and Robert Frost. These were new names to him. He explained
that he was really out of touch with the literature of the last
twenty years or so. He was too busy with his own work and
letter writing. He admitted that once he had ploughed through

D. H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers but found this dreary. At
this time he was dipping much into Doughty and enjoyed
above all his long poem. His chief interest was, of course,
longevity and stories of saints; the Life of Saint Bernard was
always by his side. He said: Tn my Bach to Methuselah the
advocates of longer life all die and the survivors find it just
happens to them to their own puzzlement and surprise. As an
advocate of a longer life for man I cannot expect to live to an
old age myself. I have already left my old selves behind. 'Hiey
are dead and done with. However, I am still able to acquire a
new self. With me the critical ages have been forty, sixty and
eighty and if I can leap over the hundred, a difficult stile to
take, then I’ll be well away for the three hundred. I will not
admit a limit to human life except the fatal accident, of course.
Death is not natural.’

84

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'In your case the circumstances are propitious; your parents
were long livers, you have disciplined yourself into cautious
living, and you have all the things which sustain life, both
materially and mentally.’

But Shaw waved his tray of gifts aside with a wide sweep
of his hand and exclaimed in a loud voice:

'You’re talking absolute nonsense! I am not a free man.
No millionaire is a free man. I would like to bake my own
bread but I must not enter the kitchen. I’d like to take my coat
off and help in the washing-up but what would my house¬
keeper say? She would walk out and refuse to work for a man
who was not a gentleman. I have to accept their conditions. It
was bad enough when I introduced the William Morris habit
of no tablecloth for meals; for as you know I never use a
tablecloth for meals.’

'But it is almost a universal practice now.’

'Is it? When I did it it was considered as immoral as
nudism. I also wanted to introduce the Morris habit of hang¬
ing the carpet on the walls instead of oh the floor, but the
servants wouldn’t budge on that point because I hadn’t the
physical attributes necessary for walking up the wall. To get
my money I have to play up to the public and to spend it I
have to play down to the servants. It’s a hard life, mine, let me
tell you, to be a marchand de plaisir

I could not help remarking: 'Especially for a person who
takes life seriously.’

'] have not yet reached my serious years. I’m still a child,
boyishly interested in photography, pseudo-scientific fairy
tales and pictures of imaginary life. Give a man a mere
hundred years to live and he sings: let us eat and drink, for
tomorrow we die. But give him three hundred years and he
becomes a new man, all his valuations change. You see our
conduct is influenced not by our experience but by our expecta¬
tion of life. I take life sufficiently seriously to want more of it
even though I find it so horrible. We are told that when
Je ovah created the world He saw that it was good. What

85

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

would He say now? Tastes have changed thanks mainly to
me.’

He did not for a moment convince me that he was finding
life horrible, but when he seemed to be enjoying himself most
he often came out with this note of self pity to remind me that
he was a human being after all.

Wasn’t it Johnson who reminded us that there is a wicked
inclination in most people to suppose that an old man decayed
in his intellect? If a young man when leaving a company
does not recollect where he laid his hat, it is nothing;
but if the same forgetfulness is discovered in an old man,
people will shrug up their shoulders and say: his memory is

going.

I did not notice such a decline in G.B.S. He was still as
mischievous and wicked as ever. I often forgot his years and
rather think he forgot mine. What he will be like at two
hundred I will not live to know. . . .

When I heard that the rector had died I felt that a light had
o 0 ne out of the village. His presence here was as native as the
trees and the hills and I knew that the flowers in his garden
would miss him. G.B.S. told me of a vicar who moved into a
poor labourer’s cottage because he wished to identify himself
more closely with the poor but at once he lost caste, especially
with the poor. The bishop complained of the vicar’s most
irregular action and though the good parson himself felt
nearer to God, he found himself getting further and further

from the Church.

'Very few people can afford to be poor. I have been 1 g
the simple life for years but I had to marry wealth to afford
That is why rectors are given mansions wh.ch drives themin
such expense that they are poorer than the poor That is h
I got my house, which is a rectory. There are certain tokens of

wealth which one must show to be ad ™‘‘ ted ‘ nt °, t , C
ring- even if you are happy with a diet of bread and cheese,

table must be spread as for a Lord Mayor's banquet, an army
86

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

of servants must be kept and you must be called away on
"urgent business" so that you may eat your simple sandwich
beneath the tree.’

'The rector was a good man. . . .’ I began.

He almost jumped from his seat. ‘I tell you if I spent my
time being good I’d soon be reduced to penury and dependent
on evil people. I am besieged every day with begging letters
whose goodness has betrayed them into becoming unemploy¬
ables and parasites. I find that I have to print special post
cards to stop them pestering me. Learn how to refuse giv¬
ing and develop the gentle art of saying: No. I have always
gone about my business as if I had not a friend in the world.*

This modest advice did not impress me much. I had learnt
to enjoy such assertions as I enjoyed abstract art, that is, with¬
out relationship to fact. I remembered the host of friends. I
thought of Lee, of his mother, of William Archer, of his
German translator, of Grein, of the Webbs, of the Murrays, of
Granville Barker, of William Morris, of Charlotte ... only a
few among hundreds. That very day he had received a gener-
ous parcel of unobtainable food from an admiring stranger.

He went on: Of course, when I had already proved my
worth they all came to me; but not as quickly as if I had been

worthless.’ He refused to be sentimental about death and
denounced earth burial.

1 know something about it,’ he declared. 'I will not need

an inch of soil to be buried in. As a nephew of the founder of

Mount Jerome Cemetery, I know too much about earth burial

to contemplate such a horror. It should be made a criminal
offence.’

When he heard that the Bishop of St. Albans was to officiate
at the induction of a new rector he put on his black suit and
sat right through the service. What he thought about it I do
not know, all he said to me was: 'The Bishop once invited
Gharlotte and myself to dinner and I had to tell him that like
Daniel I was vegetarian but my wife was carnivorous. He is a
very charming man, there is not a thing we agree about.’

87

Chapter io

I HEARD IN A TALK ON BERNARD SHAW THAT YOU KNOW HIS

characters Joan, Candida, Eliza, Undershaft, Marchbanks,
Tanner, better than your own neighbour and certainly better
than yourself. In my particular case Bernard Shaw is my neigh¬
bour.

When I was a young boy at school I was given a ticket by a
famous pianist, a friend of the family, and sat beside Bernard
Shaw in the Queen’s Hall. I liked his knickerbocker suit
though I had discarded mine by that time. His red tie must
have been like a red rag to a bull to the pianist. I carried away
his intent look and poise as he listened to the Beethoven
Pianoforte Concerto. He must have heard it for the hundredth
time, I heard it for the first time. Now we again sat together
listening to the Ninth: the same poise, the same intent

look. ... .

He said: 'I am highly susceptible to the force of all truly

religious music, especially to the music of my own church,

the church of Shelley, Michelangelo and Beethoven.’

I recalled my boyhood experience and remarked that he

then seemed the happiest man on earth.

'Why not?’ he answered, ’I had achieved my greatest ambi¬
tion. Everywhere I was considered the devil incarnate I was
abused, vilified, censored and suppressed to the limit of possi¬
bility. I got nothing for nothing, and very little for a hall-

penny. If that isn't happiness, what is ? 1 ,

'I remember queueing up for hours to sec your plays.

•You mean the Barker season at the Court when they did
Murray, Barker, Galsworthy, Ibsen and myself. . • • *°"
could have had the stalls all to yourself. It gave me someth g

88

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

to do as I had just been kicked out of St. Pancras. I wasn’t
bottom of the poll, my colleague, Sir William Geary, had that
distinction. I should have expected that result because in my
election address I did not ask them to vote for me but to vote
according to their judgment and I made the outrageous
suggestion that it was better and more economical for the rate¬
payer to pay a shilling more to the rate collector than a pound
to the doctor. I even demonstrated that good sanitation can do
more good than vaccination. I was innocent enough to believe
that I could defy the superstitious reverence for the pill and the
serum. I don't suppose I would have polled a single vote if it
had come to the ears of any constituent that I was a play¬
wright, that I had written Mrs. Warren’s Profession ! I
attended the meetings so regularly and seemed so absorbed in
drains that I couldn’t possibly be interested in other things.’
am surprised that you didn’t stand for Parliament.’

'I was too busy getting other people in, to worry about my¬
self. I have made it so perfectly clear in my tracts, articles and
books what was to be done that all Parliament has had to do
was to read my works and do the opposite. I have never been
a man for clubs and I have always disliked talk for talk’s sake,
as I have condemned art for art’s sake and food for food’s
sake. There was a certain councillor, a progressive like myself,
who kept a tailor shop of the old-fashioned kind, he made up
goods on the premises and sold them to the public direct. By
the premises I mean a poky little shop with a workroom in the
cellar underneath. He and his daughters worked by gaslight
m this dark, damp room and it never occurred to the man that
it was murderous for those girls and suicide for him. I tried to
bring him to his senses but he couldn’t see that there was any-
Wung wrong in working himself to death for a living as long as

™ ind 1 ?P“ d “ t « and ^ve all, in speaking his own mind. I
used to cal him the worst sweater in London and a scoundrel
though politically we agreed. However, he did instal electric
ight instead of gaslight and cut down the working hours to
eleven p.m. instead of midnight, though I shouldn’t be

89

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

surprised if they got up a couple of hours earlier to make up the
time. I couldn’t make the man see that his daughter needed a
holiday and so did he for the matter of that. Our movement
was made up substantially of that kind of person.'

As he spoke I thought of this family so typical in the slums,
as Beatrice Webb had herself discovered by actually working
in a sweater's den, eking out a bare subsistence, being ulti¬
mately crushed by a more ruthless competitor. What did that
little hard-pressed tailor think of the bearded ’terror,’ as he
was known, who lectured him and swore at him and suggested
holidays of all things?

’I had just returned from Rome where I had seen theSistine
Chapel and it horrified me to see the poor girl, his daughter
from a charming young girl, going fast into consumption. She
had lost every vestige of colour while I was away and there
was no doubt she could not live long. But the father would
not see it.’

G.B.S. did not tell me what I had heard from another source
that he was prepared to cover the cost of a generous holiday
anonymously.

Twenty years ago at the height of his fame when Saint Joan
established him as immortal, I took the chair for him at one of
his large meetings and I had the opportunity of watching the
audience. It was a lecture on the literature of the drama, the
kind of subject that ordinarily drew a few note-greedy students,
but here a thousand people were held spellbound by his voice,
he would have held them even if he were reciting his new

alphabet backwards. When I thanked him he said .

Td rather be talking Socialism. I get invitations from al
over the world to talk on the Drama and I always refuse. Bu
it is difficult to refuse to talk to a half-dozen people in an out
of the way industrial town on something to do with economics.
If they want drama they can always go to my plays, repertory
theatres and amateur societies are all over the place now u
for Socialism I have to go to them. That’s how I derive >
education from the uneducated.’

90

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

That was quite true. At these little meetings everything was
thrashed out, they were convinced that the way to truth was
through argument and nothing was held sacred except this
search for truth. They discussed morality, justice, freedom,
sex, nationalism, everything. Bebel, the Socialist leader in
Germany, had written a book on ‘Woman,’ which turned, in
its quiet logical way, all our conceptions and prejudices inside
out. Havelock Ellis had written his monumental book on the
Psychology of Sex, banned in this country as immoral and
considered by the progressive people as the greatest moral
influence of the day. Then there was Edward Carpenter’s
Love’s Coming of Age and Civilisation: Its Cause and Cure ;
and Widowers Houses by that Museum bookworm, George
Bernard Shaw.

'It was William Archer who set me going on the straight
and narrow path of drama. We co-operated; he could work
out plots and I did the talking parts, but soon the talk left the
plot far behind and like Oliver Twist, I had to go to Archer
for more and more and more.” He, however, was not equal
to the strain, so I degenerated into leaving out the plot alto¬
gether and making my plays all talk. I discovered that it
worked very well. For a man like myself who knows how to
talk there is no need for a plot. It didn’t take away from my
enjoyment of the highly conventional form of the Greek
drama as translated by Gilbert Murray or the well made plays
of Ibsen, I had something new to give and I gave it.'

Those were the days of innovation and inner conflict. Salt
and Joynes left their secure, highly respected jobs at Eton to

t * e n f ” ff0m and »ot at all respected propaganda for
hmnamtanarnsm; Edward Carpenter destined for a bishopric
made sandds while clerks and civil servants took to landwork

, P r,ncl P le and in ^ Socialist movement the
manual worker was venerated as a hero if he ever could pluck

Z f Cn , d the Condave of hitellectuals. It couW

raUv * at f n' lntdIectua1 ’ so “item on talking had

really no faith m intellect or talk and instinctively felt for the

91

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

mechanic and labourer. Shaw brought much laughter and
gusto into the ranks and yet remained strangely unattached. I
told him that a friend of mine, who knew him well in those
days summed him up as follows: 'He is most convincing
while he is talking, but the moment he sits down you find he
has contributed nothing new to the discussion.’ G.B.S. agreed
with this statement. He said: 'This mania for originality’
appals me. An original thought only comes once in a century
or so, if that, and they want me to do in five minutes what it
took originally five hundred years. It can’t be done for even I
find that I have to repeat myself. Then again, an original
thought doesn’t sink in immediately and you have to say it
again and again and it takes anything up to fifty years for it
to germinate.’

And yet when we talked about Walt Whitman s Leaves of
Grass and Richard Jefferies’ Story of My Heart , he said:

'In the same way as I made it impossible for a dramatist to
get away with the old kind of stuff, so these two people did
away with any interest in rhyming and playing at verse. Thq r
proved that poetry is at its best when it is incorporated into
prose, whether you split it up into line-lengths as Whitman

did or let it remain prose as in Jefferies’ or my work.

Hyndman spent a lunch hour with us denouncing Shaw as
a man who would sell the movement for a laugh. But then
Hyndman held all laughter suspect. He was then the leader
of the Social Democratic Federation, the proletarian wing o
the Socialist Party and he, with high hat, frock coat an
impressive white beard looked every inch a proletarian leader
It was the S.D.F. and not the bourgeois Fabian Society tha
attracted people like William Morris, Walter Crane <Cunn.ng-
hame Graham and the Countess of Warwick, G.B.S. had

foot in both camps. D ,

■Talking of the Fabians,’ he said, they were

Ruskin’s name was hardly mentioned. My c f e ^J Jer
seem conscious of Oscar Wilde’s The Soul of M*
Socialism or even Morris's News from Nowhere and seeme

92

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

to suspect people associated with art. Perhaps it was better so.
The artist should keep out of these organizations unless he
can, like myself, tackle music, art, philosophy, science and
economics in his stride. For me they were one and the same
thing. When I wrote music criticism for the Star, I threatened
my readers to take to playwriting if I could stoop so low.
Have you noticed that when new repertory companies promise
to do only contemporary plays they mean plays of mine written
fifty or sixty years ago?’

'When I was young and full of years,’ he said, looking me
right in the eyes, 'I consulted a sage that I might achieve the
formation of a perfect character. "Young man,” he said, “are
you a vegetarian?” I promptly answered: ”Yes.” This took
him aback; he asked a second question which surprised me.
"Have you mastered shorthand?” I told him that I could
write it very nearly as fast as longhand, but I could not read it.
That impressed him; "Young man,” he went on, "you are
indeed high on the Mount of Wisdom. There remains but one
more accomplishment, which as an artist is obviously destined
for you: a life of poverty.” I fled without turning back in case
I was converted into a pillar of salt. I was determined hence¬
forth to prove that it is possible to form a perfect character
without poverty! ’

I had never met Walt Whitman but Edward Carpenter
who stayed with him, told me much about him. He was, it
seems, an unworldly, unselfish, democratic man and full’of
diarity and goodwill to everyone, the impulsive writer who
^ved life and all living creatures. I thought of this man as

w l WaS tC lmg me about ^ burial of Thomas Hardy in
Westminster Abbey. He was saying:

'I had a chance of having a long chat with Edmund Gosse
and a little flattery got him round far enough to tell me a story
of how he managed to see Walt Whitman with the aid of a
charming girl. Gosse was on a ferry when this girl offered to

93

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

take him to Walt Whitman because there could be no other
reason for his presence on the ferry. It must have been strange
to see this dapper Englishman in this out of the way place.
When they found the door locked, and could get no answer,
she suggested that they climb the wall into a window and so
get into the house that way. Poor Gosse was shocked, but as it
seemed his only hope to get at the man he permitted her to
persuade him to rise to the occasion. They found Whitman at
his desk, just as she had said! Now I have arranged for my
servants to guard me like bull-dogs and I go down to my
shelter so that no one can get at me. It wouldn’t do for a
stranger to discover me asleep with my mouth open. I would
never have got through all that writing if I allowed curiosity
mongers from all over the world to disturb me. Once, how¬
ever, a man did overcome all obstacles. There was no attempt
at climbing through a window. An Eastern had arrived at my
door, in full regalia. When my maid answered the door, he
stood motionless and without a sound. The maid informed
him that I was out, but he made no movement. She explained
then that I was hard at work and not to be disturbed. He did
not understand a word. Nonplussed, she had to let him into
the sitting-room where he bowed and stood in the way
Easterns have, in those embroidered clothes of his. She had to
come for me and the moment I entered he shook my hand
warmly and spoke perfect English as only Easterns can do!

'Didn’t Ellen Terry have a similar experience? I asked.
’When she was doing the sleepwalking scene m Mac bet ,
suddenly, on the stage, appeared just such a man, wit 1 a grea
bouquet of roses. He was so charmed with her that he paid t e
usual tribute. The audience, thinking it was Henry Irvin g * n a
new disguise loudly applauded this celestial addition to Shakes¬
peare, but the scene was not repeated.’ ,

This brought up the story, not of a silent visitor bu

loquacious German. He came to their London flat.

’I asked Charlotte to prevent him seeing me at all c •
because I didn’t want to be disturbed. Charlotte went ou

94

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

him and he started talking and she couldn’t stop him. Every
time she opened her mouth, she only accelerated his flow of
speech. She had to give up and come for me to deal with him.
I meant to fling him out of the window but he had already
started his oration and the upshot of it all was that he was
given permission to translate my works into German, and that
was the beginning of my great success. My failure in this
instance proved my success.’

«

%

95

Chapter n

WHEN I TOLD G.B.S. OF THE LONG QUEUES TO BE SEEN OUT-
side a vegetarian restaurant and the large number of people
who registered as vegetarians, he asked me if I remembered
the kind of meals mentioned in Pepys > Diary. He said :

'They consumed the whole animal kingdom at each meal.
Small wonder they were too old at thirty. Give Man a chance
and he will do everything to destroy himself and laugh at his
own imbecility. It is a good sign that corpulence and intoxica¬
tion are no longer considered subjects of mirth, but are now
considered either a disease or a breach of good manners. I my¬
self am seriously contemplating reducing my meals to two a
day and perhaps have one fast day a week.’

It is a long time since I have peeped at Pepys* Diary but I
had picked up a book of Tennyson. I was always picking up
old books with the hope of repeating my first rapture. Here
is his description of a picnic:

There on the slope of orchard, Francis laid
A damask napkin wrought with horse and hound;
Brought out a dusky loaf that smelt of home,

And, half cut down, a pasty costly made,

Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret, lay
Like fossils on the rock, with golden yolks
Imbedded and in jellied.

’That’s just what I expected of Tennyson,’ Shaw said in
disgust. I had to say something in Tennyson’s favour. I
reminded him how kind Tennyson had been to Ellen Terr)',
how he pointed out the beauty of nature to her and told her
the names of birds and flowers.

96

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

I should think so. She was an extremely beautiful girl and

as innocent as a rose. When Watts kissed her, she took for

granted she was going to have a baby. But to return to diet, I

suppose I have stayed the course longer than any other
vegetarian.’

There must be many Indians who have beaten you.*

I mean converted vegetarians. There are people who give
it up in a week, others after twenty years. I haven’t the least
desire for meat or fish. When I dined out I tried to cause as
little inconvenience as possible, but I made it dear I did not
favour their delicacies.’

I told of an American dramatist who was having a season

of his plays in England. He was our guest while in this

country and we were invited to dine with an editor. The table

was spread with every kind of meat and fish. It was a gorgeous

banquet fit for a king. My friend looked round anxiously and

quietly said: 'Have you a tomato? That is all I eat. .. with a

piece of bread.’ The editor looked at his wife and she looked

opelessly at him. They had to send for a piece of cheese and

tomatoes while they themselves feasted to their hearts' content
on fish and meat.

. alwa) ? re P fd a meal “ a nuisance w hen P«opIe come to

7 thC , ratl0nin g has P ut * st °P to all this entertain¬
er* 0111 ^ people now accept such an excuse.’

The difficulty is that vegetarians who are generally ex-
tremdy social creatures find themselves apart from fireir

!nd°colle e eCaUS V heir diet J S dlfferent ' ' I1,at is 50 in sch0 ° ls

v “ ! ge f and ,n man y boarding-houses. At Cambridge the
vegetarian has to proclaim it each time a meal is served and
en he ls g lven a,,, potatoes and vegetabl wi thout^

but mseead of the meat they doublf the portion of potatos
Hospitals are even worse.’ V

.What do doctors know about diet! They thrive on the
ignorance of the people. When doctors themselves are ill they

to the^ 7 - g ° ^ j naturo P ath ’ but the trouble is they go back
their original diet when they are healed.’ ^ ^

97

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'On the whole there is a great improvement in diet. The
war has taught people that it is possible to survive without
meat.’

'Do you know whether Prince Kropotkin was a vegetarian?
General Booth was, and so is Churchill’s chief scientific
adviser, I hear.’

'I am not sure of Kropotkin.’

'I knew Kropotkin and I regard him next to William Morris
as the saint of the century. His theory of mutual aid certainly
put Darwin in his place. The Prince owed his first impulse
towards a higher development to his teacher of literature, and
diis is how it came about. When he was in the Corps of Pages
the inspector of the educational department hit upon a wise
and successful plan of getting this rather uproarious class to
study. Instead of indifferent teachers who formerly used to
teach in the lower forms, he endeavoured to secure first-rate
men. He invited a great classical scholar and an expert in
literature to teach a rather unruly class of juniors. When the
professor came in for his first lesson he told them in a lov
voice that as he was just recovered from an illness he could
not raise his voice and invited the students to approach nearer.
They came and as his voice dropped they sat close to him and
hung on his lips. The ice had been broken. When the inspec¬
tor opened the classroom door he found them absorbed ant

he turned away lest he disturbed them. The best teachers
should go to primary schools. That’s where we need them
most. If we had proper teaching and pleasant schools, the
inattentive and disorderly child could be sufficiently intimi¬
dated by the fear of being sent home where a child is never

happy.’

Why was Tinkerbell so vociferous and why must he let the
whole village know that G.B.S. was knocking at the door
The cat on the other hand was completely indifferent. She
was lying snug on her favourite cushion in the corner of the
diva/and nothing was going to move her. G.B.S. found h.s

98

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

favourite seat occupied and stood contemplating the situation.
He said resignedly: 'Oh, I can sit anywhere, the harder the
seat the better,’ and remained standing. Not for long. We
lifted Fuzzia bodily, rolled up as she was and put her in one
of the low chairs and G.B.S. smiled happily as he sat down.

'There is a kind of understanding between animals and my¬
self,’ he said. But we noticed that instead of treating them as
wise knowing companions as Walter Pater did and having
them about him, G.B.S. cluttered nonsensical sounds to them,
and so they tolerated him as they would a child.

He reverted to the conversation we had had previously, as
though he had been thinking much about it.

'Did the mention of Prince Kropotkin,’ he asked, Ting a
bell? Or, is he, like so many of the people I mentioned, a for¬
gotten figure of the past? I’ve been asked to write a key to my
plays because I introduce so many people who were house¬
hold names in my time, when the play was written and they
are now completely forgotten. I was asked the other day by a
young person: who was Balfour? And as to Walkley and
filbert Cannan whom I use in Fanny’s First Play they might

have not existed. I daresay it will not be long before people
will say: "Who was this Shaw?’’ ’ 6 P P

court ?’ 111 0De ° f thC ^ UdgCS alread7 asked that q ue st«on in

} dlcklt know. Do you remember who it was?’
t was some time ago and I have forgotten his name.’
there is nobody,’ he answered, brushing the subject aside

whvT?m rant r 1 P f S ° n Wh ° i$ a,wa 3 * ri g h t and that is

Prince ^ pe ° p,e ° f that kind - Now

wi on^f i ^ u dlffCrent kind 0f P erson - Though he
ab^Tn C gre f SCh ° larS 0f the da ? and certainly towered

stl 7 m ’ aDd th ° Ugh hC WaS a pri ^ he was ^the most
mple and unassuming of all the people I had ever met ’

The name of Kropotkin,’ I had to say, 'not only rings a

with 1 Ut dlC VC T bellS ° f heaVCn with me - As a b °y I walfed
<th 1Um ° Ver the S ° u * Downs and there for the first

99

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

learnt of the difference between a newspaper conception of a
man and the real man. He was built up by the Press as a
desperate character, a terrorist with revolvers hidden in his
pockets and all the time conspiring with similar criminals the
downfall of all the things the world held sacred: property,
royalty, government, morals and freedom. I found him as you
say, a man so filled with the social conscience that he could not
bear the thought of anyone being poor or suffering. A tramp
greeted us and he took out all he had and gave it to him at
once without question. When I remarked that this was not
the way of solving the problem of poverty, he said: "There
are personal problems of conscience which are more impor¬
tant than all the great social problems. Tolstoy stopped his
creative work because of a religious call and I gave up my
science because of the call of humanity, and how can a man
help humanity if he is inhuman himself?" ’

’Well, what was the result? He died in poverty.’

’Why not? What does it matter how one dies? We are all
the richer for his existence in the world.’

'I suffer as much as he did but I have taken the build up of
myself into my own hands. I shall leave nothing to chance.

'Have you ever heard, G.B.S., what Gorki thought of
Tolstoy when he first met him and how disappointed he was
that his hero should have used so many obscene expletives in
his conversation?

'That’s interesting, because Gorki was a product of the
dosshouse and the sweating den and Tolstoy of the Russian
aristocracy, and it was Gorki who was shocked! You see,
Tolstoy wanted to link himself with Gorki, while Gorki
expected him to be the aristocrat and saint and so the shock
was all the greater! Now W. H. Davies was a very refined
man and he came from the same class as Gorki.’

'Yes, you must remember the poem Davies wrote on that

very theme. I think he called it Confession.

One hour in every hundred hours
/ sing of childhood, birds and flowers:

100

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Who reads my character in song
Will not see much in me that’s wrong.

But in my ninety hours and nine
I would not tell what thoughts are mine;

They’re not so pure as find their words
In songs of childhood, flowers and birds’

G.B.S. was amused. 'Most poets and writers,' he said, pre¬
fer to show the ninety-nine hours nowadays and are ashamed
of childhood, birds and flowers. When I was on the Stage
Society, James Joyce sent in his plays and he always felt that
they were not complete without a really good obscene act.
That kind of thing bores me to tears. There are certain
authors who have somehow been associated with obscenity;
Oscar Wilde,'for example. In all the years I knew him, I
never heard him swear or say anything obscene. His wit was
always a model of good taste. I always thought mire was, till
the censor taught me otherwise. The poor old censor was
shocked at the way I made a horse-thief talk, so unrefined.

And yet the horse-thief came nearer to God than the Almighty
censor! ’ 87

One of the most refined men I knew was the nephew of
Sibelius who settled here in the Tolstoy colony. He was also
a friend of Carpenter's and the Garnetts among many others.
He said that the test of a man’s character was best judged
from his talk about women in private conversation.’

I don't think so. If one did that there would never be anv

movements for world betterment, in the same way that you

judge an artist's work by his talk and not his achievement.’

don t think any artist can hide his personality. If he thinks

meanly °f women it will come through in his work. Look how

he Itahans deified their mistresses and made them immortal
“ Madonnas.

you think, he chuckled, ‘that those good people who

ro,n2°M° gr L aph,C pkys ° r P aint su SS cstlv e nudes do not lead
respectable suburban lives! The distinction they covet most is
to be appointed to the Watch Committee.’

D*

101

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

I brought out an old copy of a newspaper and read:

• "Madame Grondhal is in round numbers, forty; that is,
she is in full maturity of her genius. And here you become
curious about her personal appearance; you would like a little
description. Well, she is what you would call, observe, what
you would call, a perfectly plain woman. Her hair is not
golden like yours: it is, I think, almost ashen: you would
call it grey. Her figure and style are, well, quite slender,
nothing in particular, nothing superb or Junonan; what can
I say? Complexion? Quite Norwegian; no cream or coral,
nothing to be afraid of there. Eyes? Well, eyes are a matter of
opinion. I should rather like you to see them for yourself:
they are memorable. A noble brow! But then, as you say,
how unbecoming to a woman to have a noble brow! Would
anybody look at you, if you were in the same room as her.
Ah, there you have me. Frankly they would forget your very
existence, even if there were no such thing in the world as a
piano. For there is grace beside which your beauty is vu gar
and your youth inadequate:^ and that grace is the secret ot

Madame Grondhal’s charm.

'Who was this Madame Grondhal?’ he asked. Mem ry
plays silly tricks with me nowadays.’ He held out his han an
I gave him the paper. It was a music criticism by Como di
Bassetto. He put the paper down at his side. Did his mm g
back to the room with a piano and a crowd of prim y
women in long dresses and men, bearded and^ forma .. •
he said: 'I remember being invited to an at home of hons
and lionesses and there was one woman who seem 8
of it. A quiet motherly woman she looked and very 7 &

these great ones. As no one else spoke to her I thought^!
would keep her company, but she found it very “jj 1
keep up conversation and I had to do all the a 1 g- ^ ^
she interrupted me: "I’m sorry I must go now * . . >

play at the Albert Hall.” She was the greatest pianist of J

A cold wind was blowing and. wishing to accompany me,

102

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

he went to the corner hat-stand and from a whole history of
hats and caps selected a black tweed cap; as to a stick, there
were only a few to choose from and none of any distinctive
design which we associate with the aesthetes of the 'nineties.

'Which way shall we go?’ he asked, as if the selection were
wide. There was the walk through the village and on through
the park, there was the walk along the grove and back past
our house and across the fields, with wide vistas. Td like to
see where the bomb dropped,’ he said. He referred to an
incendiary that had recently fallen on a rainy night. When we
came to the place there was no impression left. The weeds had
made a rapid disguise and no black blot on the landscape
could be found.

‘Ayot Saint Lawrence,’ I said, ’already has its ruins, why
do we need more?’

'Soon this country will be visited only for its ruins. There
is one thing, they can’t put down the demolition of the abbey
here to me as they once put down a cathedral fire to the fact
that Darwin had passed through the town. It is amazing how
quickly people settle into a war and accept it as a matter of
fact as they once accepted bad drainage, in spite of the smells
and the hideous deaths. There are some stupid writers who
talk in a romantic way about the smells of a town, as a dog
would if he could express himself while examining the excreta
along the roads. I’ve spent most of my life smashing romance:
the romance of poverty, the romance of love, the romance of
home, the romance of suffering. The world will never be the
same again because I have educated four generations to see
things as they are, and not what they imagine them to be or
want them to be. I can recall the moment when I shed
poverty like an infected cloak. I had a speaking engagement
and as usual dashed after a bus only to see it go off. I began
to walk to save money and suddenly stopped short. I realized
that I did not need to save twopence. I could now afford half
a crown for a taxi. I jumped into a taxi and arrived in style.
However much the Socialists run down the wicked bourgeois

103

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

they rather like to feel that, like the poor, the bourgeois are
always with them.’

Suddenly he stopped dead and faced me. 'Do you think?’
he asked, 'the young are interested in my work?’ He waited
for the reply with stick in the air, as though to proclaim him¬
self above defeat.

‘The young and your generation have very much in
common.’

He dropped his stick, half in anger.

‘So you think me typical of my generation? You have only
to look at the copies of Punch of the day, to see how people
like Annie Besant, William Morris and John Burns, were
hated more than foreigners, and look up the files of Truth to
see what lies they, the typical people, were prepared to print
about us! I represented a small minority and was best when I
was in the minority of one. Do you remember the mean tricks
the respectable reactionaries resorted to to throw the progres¬
sives out of power in London? The horrid figure on the poster
representing us, pointing a finger at every passer-by with the
threat: “It’s your money we want!” I loathed and despise
my generation. I have caused millions to laugh their way o
life out of existence and I have no doubt I shall succeed.

He pushed his cap over one eye, a way he has, and added:
‘I want to be remembered like Mozart and Michelange o.

A farm labourer passed and greeted us.

‘Who was he?’ G.B.S. asked in a whisper. ‘He seemed t

know me.’

i

104

Chapter 12

I HAD NEVER SEEN G.B.S. SO JUBILANT. HE ALMOST DANCED
a jig on the lawn as he came tripping in. What good news had
he to tell? Had Hitler committed suicide? Had we entered
Germany? No. It was not long before he told me that he had
succeeded in healing a person by post. An unknown Man¬
chester man had written to him, asking about this vegetarian¬
ism, mentioning in passing that he was far from well. So
many people have tried every other way to health and when
the orthodox doctor has failed do they turn to the radical
change demanded by vegetarianism. In answering, Bernard
Shaw advised the open window and brown bread. A month or
so later he heard that the miracle had happened because the
man was cured of his trouble!

I couldn't, of course, advise a real change of diet because
my diet may not suit the person in Manchester. Salads and
fruit are no good for me because they produce in me the very
symptoms they arc supposed to cure.' 7

He saw my look of surprise because he had often grumbled
diat he could not get those very things at his own table, but
he realized that he was not talking to the world at large and at
once followed it up with: 'Of course, you people know how
o prepare salad dishes but the other people are as frightened
of fresh things as they are of new ideas/

I pointed out that the clinics and doctors were wiser now

and not only was fruit advised but fruit juices were actually
distributed free to mothers and children 7

wiint ! f^ nd u hat ^ ° Id people? ' he “ ked . 'soon there
be few old people. Men are now much younger and more

105

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

them to expect people to stay on at their work till seventy.
Women in fact are younger at fifty than they used to be at
thirty. I put this down to the fact that they consume less and
less meat and eat more sensibly on the whole. It needed a war
to knock sense into people. A few more wars and we will
grow into a nice vegetarian brotherhood. The quicker the

better.’

Whenever a voice was raised in the Commons bemoaning
the lack of meat, the Ministry of Health came forward with
statistics to prove that we were healthier and more immune
from infection.

'I must tell you,’ I said, 'that a man I knew, who lived on
unfired food, challenged the hospitals to infect him with any
foul disease and he would prove himself immune. This was
tried at one of the hospitals and he came out as healthy as

ever.’

'I know. When I suggested these measures fifty years ago
on the Vestry , one old doctor shouted that the members
should take no notice of "that scoundrel over there.’’ Better to
be thought a scoundrel than a clown. Margot Asquith, the
woman with the big chin, insisted on regarding me as a clown
even when I was the greatest political force in the world,
suppose it was because I did not drink. She was a strange
woman. At lunch she would dig her chin into my shoulder
and in that way made a very deep impression on me. Her hus
band will be remembered as a character in my play Dace
Methuselah , but otherwise completely characterless, n a
Cabinet of scholars, John Burns, the worker, was the best rea
of the lot of them. And his reading was only a form or
snobbery. He liked to have books round him as a new ry-
likes to have antiques. John Burns and I passed a restaurant

one day and we both saw a decorated menu. Jo n
his head about a feeble little decoration of a robin an
holly. "William Morris would like this, he said. As ™
the last thing in art! The poor man wept over Hood s Su^ f
the Shirt and The Bridge of Sight, as Asquith and King

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Edward wept over Marie Corelli’s Sorrows of Satan. Those
were the days, by the way, when we bred strong, silent men
personified by Sir Edward Grey, who knew nothing about
people and everything about birds. John Morley missed his
chance in discovering a great novelist in the person of myself
and consoled himself ever after that with a mere secretaryship
for India. Parliamentary speeches were so dull that news¬
papers gave whole pages to reporting them, often condensing
murder trials and divorces to find room for these trivialities.’

The conversation was flowing rather inconsequentially;
Margot’s chin bringing up a painful flow of memories and
taking us away from his triumph in healing!

I could not help asking him something which has always
puzzled me: 'How is it that after all these years, you, the most
persuasive man alive, have not converted your own wife, nor
any of the people in your service, nor any of your fans, to
vegetarianism?’

'William Morris used to say: "I don’t know who are the
best people to educate the young; but this I am certain, the
parents are the very worst.” This is also true about husbands
educating wives and wives influencing husbands, and it is
doubly true about an oracle influencing his fans. Tell me a
man is a Shavian and I will run from him as from a plague.
Charlotte tried it out for a little while but she soon gave it up.
You see, as Charlotte eats the standard diet I generally have to
put up with anything that’s going, leaving out flesh, fish or
fowl. Everything I eat has been proved by some doctor or
other to be a deadly poison and everything I don’t eat has
been proved to be indispensable for life. But that’s also true
to everything I say and write. But I go marching on.’

All at once he looked searchingly at me.

You haven t a bad face, but you should cut your hair more
often. Appearance is everything. I myself get my chauffeur to
take me regularly to the barber and he does it to my liking;
just as I have trained him to do. As my face is known to the
world and part and parcel of my extensive publicity it is most

107

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

important that I keep it up to expectation. I almost think that
if my beard and eyebrows and moustache had no face to hold
them together, they would still get away with it. Appearance
is everything. That is why I have to live in Whitehall Court,
have a Rolls-Royce driven by a chauffeur and a uniformed
maid to open the door. We have a splendid view from White¬
hall Court flat, spoilt only by the Houses of Parliament which
I have visited only once in my life and that in my capacity as
an art critic to examine some fading murals. They say appear¬
ances are deceptive but deception is half the battle for a sin¬
cere man who does not want to be beaten into impotency.
Sidney Webb was the only man I know who was always
against facade; it was he who declared that Ramsay Mac¬
Donald was all facade and nothing behind it.’

He sat down without a word. His face was white and
drawn. We guessed that he needed quiet and therefore
brought out books on art which he examined with the great¬
est of care. He knew few of the modern names, showed
an antipathy to abstact work and confused Picasso with

Pissarro.

'Old Camille Pissaro was an excellent artist but (turning to

Picasso’s work) what a son!' ,

He was obviously thinking of Pablo and not Lucien and

blamed the latter for indulging in abstract pattern to eceivc
an ignorant public. He visualised Lucien Pissarro as a young,
irresponsible, irrepressible fellow with a great but in u gen
father. I showed him a photograph of Lucien with long gre)

beard. G.B.S. smiled and said:

'That’s where men have the advantage, lhey can a y
grow a beard to cover a chin. I myself am not too goo wi
out a beard. I have a nasty jowl which needs softening
natural hair.' Again he denounced Lucien as one who oug
to know better. I explained that he was a personal triend, a
hardy, conscientious worker, the nearest per5°n we
William Morris in this country. I told G.B.S. of the

108

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

ful friendship that existed between father and son and quoted
a letter from Camille to Lucien.

'Remember that I have a rustic, melancholy temperament,
that I am coarse and wild in appearance, it is only after a long
time that I can appeal to anyone if the person who looks at
me has a little indulgence. But the passer-by passes too cursory
a glance and goes on ...’

G.B.S. said: 'When I was an art critic I recognized the
moment I saw the work of the impressionists, that a new
vision and a new vitality had entered art. When an artist’s
work produces violent controversy people are apt to regard it
with that sort of seriousness which is very appropriately called
deadly. The same sort of thing happened in literature and the
theatre: they were almost done to death by the earnest dis¬
ciples. Be earnest, certainly, but if you believe in a thing you
can laugh at it. Atheists whose religion is that there is no God,
laugh at God and end up as theosophists. Do you remember
St. John Ervine’s story, when he and Galsworthy were watch¬
ing a performance of my play? They were suddenly haran¬
gued by a funeral mute, an earnest student of the drama. He
must have entered the theatre after depositing a body in a
cellar. He pointed to the dozen persons in the theatre and ex¬
claimed : "And even these don’t take it seriously!” Three
blows of the mallet were heard, the artistic substitute for the
orchestra, and the play was resumed.’

I thought that the best bit of pungent criticism I had ever

read was of Courbet by Alexandre Dumas Fils; I read it to
G.B.S.:

'From what fabulous crossing of a slug with a peacock,
from what genital antithesis, from what sebaceous oozing can
have been generated, for instance, this thing called Mr.
Gustave Courbet? Under what gardener’s bell, with the help
of what manure, as a result of what mixture of wine, beer,
corrosive mucous and a flatulent oedema, can have grown this
sonorous and hairy pumpkin, ths aesthetic belly, this imbecilic
and impotent incarnation of the Self? Wouldn’t one say he

109

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

was the force of God, if God, whom this non-being has
wanted to destroy, were capable of playing pranks, and could
have mixed Himself up with this?’

G.B.S. laughed and thought it good stuff. 'It was no doubt
the making of Courbet,’ he said. 'Philosophically Dumas was
all wrong. God is capable of playing pranks and He’s always
mixing Himself up with artists. It’s the only company He
cares to keep. All the same, I’m all out for a healthy Philis¬
tinism which will laugh, though not urgently, at the mystic
pretensions of our workers in paint, in stone or in print.’

'You prefer to think of yourself as a ''healthy” Philistine?

He dropped his head and made up his mind quickly. 'How
else,’ he answered, 'is one to be free from the diseased langour

of aestheticism?'

In that phrase I saw the Yellow Book , and the artists and

writers Max pilloried so tenderly.

'You know,’ he continued, 'Dumas could have said all that

of Rodin’s sculpture, or of my work, or, compositely, Rodin's
sculpture of me. Rodin was an extraordinary man really. He
liked to work in his garden and whenever he wanted anything
moved he would call the nearest person, even the postman, to
help him lift the sculpture, and the amazing tiling was that he
Jid it! We got on very well together, he could not speak
English and I could not speak French, so conversation was
smooth as I did all the talking. He was really uneducated and
like Anatole France had never heard of me before my wife
asked him to do a bust of me. I don’t think he had even heard
of William Morris. He lived in grand style in a mansion with
a large garden and a factotum who ran all his affairs very e

ciently for him.’

'You mean Rilke, the poet?' . ,.

'Was he a poet?’ He was obviously taken aback. I w
hear something about Rilke but he had nothing to s. y

'Rodin was a very good draughtsman, he continued, an

Charlotte, who managed to get round everybo y, i P

110

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

him enough for him to give her one of his drawings, a nude,
but he was delicate enough to drape this drawing before he
presented it, in deference to my wife’s modesty. Which
reminds me of a sweet story about Ruskin.

'He had heard that a lady whom he had loved in his youth
was dying and he expressed a desire to see her. The reply
came that he could only see her if he said that he loved God
more than her. He did not go.’

'It was well,’ I said, 'that Ruskin didn’t see her.’

'I had a similar experience with Janet Achurch. My last
meeting with her was at the Court Theatre, I had not seen her
for ages and I made an odd mistake. I went into the wrong
room and found three women dressing. I went straight to the
one made up as an old woman and kissed her hand. She was
obviously surprised and quietly directed me to the next land-
ing.’

'Did Janet make you promise to put God before her?’ I
asked.

'No, it was I who was always preaching religion. Look how
religion transformed Annie Besant. Mrs. Besant, the secular¬
ist, became coarser and stouter every year, while as a Theoso-
phist she became a teetotaller and vegetarian and looked quite
attractive in her white robes. Annie had no taste. She bought
an umbrella for me: it was so ugly that I wouldn’t be seen at
a funeral with it, I returned it to her and she threw it over a
fence in Regent s Park. To tease her I did a drawing of the
field with lots of little umbrellas coming through.’

'You are inclined to ride roughshod over people’s feelings ’
I remarked.

'Well, I had to show the cloven hoof even if it was on the
foot that was in the grave.’

G.B.S. had been living with one foot in the grave, on and
off, for more years than I can remember.

He was back again in France, going round the galleries,
Charlotte at his side or more likely far behind, striding from

111

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

room to room, from building to building, for they had to see
everything there was to be seen and photograph whatever
could be photographed.

'I always made a beeline for the best and left Charlotte
behind breathless. She liked pretty things, mainly water
colours, but I looked for ability. It must have been very trying
for her. On the whole, I don’t think she has found me too
trying. I have always managed to surround her with interest¬
ing men who naturally adored her. She is so unobtrusively
thoughtful while I am inclined to ride roughshod over
people’s feelings. Granville-Barker and T. E. Lawrence were

particular favourites of hers.’

'I hear that Lawrence was so afraid of old age that he delib¬
erately endangered his life at the height of his powers to lose
it.'

'He was a strange fellow. He thought that by changing his
name to Shaw, he wouldn’t be recognized, Shaw being such a
common name. He refused to grow up and avoided adult in¬
terests like religion and politics and went in for boyish adven¬
tures like dressing up as an Arab as Tolstoy dressed up in

peasant garb.’

He had a love and appreciation of modern art.

'Isn’t that,’ G.B.S. asked, 'a sign of youth? When I was
young I thought Wagner and Ibsen the last and the best In
fact it was I who put them on the map, but now I can fit them
nicely into their proper places. The young think only o t c
strong and the pretty. As an older man I realize that some o
the most irresistible women are what the young think aston¬
ishingly ugly. When I was in Russia, I was determined to see

Lenin's widow. Every difficulty was put in my way u
there ultimately, I always get what I want when I want‘t surm
cicntly, and I found this terribly ugly person the most att ac
tive person I had ever met. We had a most interest g

conversation and she enjoyed it thoroughly, er a P s ,
plains why I have always proved so irresistib e o
One day I’ll have to settle down to writing an In £

112

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Womans Guide to Bernard Shaw. By the way, do they still
spend their years at the art schools drawing from the nude,
getting to the reality beneath the clothes?’

I mentioned that I had been down to Oxford and visited
the Slade and they were certainly concentrating on the
nude.

'They used to call it the "life class.” Young women posed
in ridiculous and painful attitudes. What on earth could they
learn from it? Life doesn’t yield its secrets for half a crown an
hour, or whatever they pay these lifeless creatures nowadays.
I’ve posed nude to a photographer in the manner of Rodin's
Thinker but I only looked constipated. I would suggest that
the artist, if he is to achieve anything, should do bodies at
work, hands that work, faces that have been lined. . . . Then
again a quick glance at the model is often enough. I think I
have told you before how, at the British Museum, I saw a
young lady working at one of the desks. Her expression inter¬
ested me and I instantly conceived the character and wrote the
description of Agatha Wylie. I had never spoken to her and
knew nothing about her and yet you would say I must have
known her intimately. I once even invented a servant for one

of my models and found afterwards that he had just such a
servant! ’

'The thing that amuses me in portraiture is that people
expect the artist to see with the unimaginative eye of the
cursory spectator.’

You mean the artist is the only one who has normal vision.
I once went to an eye specialist. When I feel for a little fling,
the privilege of the rich, I go to a doctor so that I can pay him
well for listening to me. Mistaking the object of my visit, he
commenced to examine my eyes and after the most carefully
conducted scrutiny gravely informed me that I had most ab¬
normal vision. I laughed and told him of the natural method
and therefore the latest method of dealing with the eyes but
he was not interested. "And what is wrong with my eyes?” I
asked. "Absolutely nothing. That is why they are so

113

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

abnormal,” he replied, and asked for an autograph which I
inscribed on a cheque.’

'Never believe anything a person tells you about himself,'
G.B.S. said before he had even settled into his seat. 'A man
comes to believe in the end the lies he tells about himself to
himself.’

I knew by this introduction that he had something interest¬
ing to tell me. The Scottie smiled and cocked up his ears and
the cat kept far from his feet. He settled in the corner, brushed
his eyebrows with a tiny brush, refused refreshments and
continued his conversation:

'I was invited to a meal and my hostess warned me, know¬
ing my shyness in company, that I would meet a very interest¬
ing person. I had been working hard all day and the last thing
I wanted was to meet an interesting person, who generally
turns out to be a bore. I was ushered into a large room, full of
very beautiful things, and there before me was the man I had
deliberately avoided all my life. I was turning to go when my
hostess appeared. She said "What do you think of this
wonderful mirror which arrived to-day?” and looked in the
direction of my deadly enemy. What could I say? I answered
sweetly: "William Morris hated mirrors. He didn’t want to
see his wretched dial wherever he went.” ' Oh, did he? It s a
pity he didn’t live to see yours instead,” she said. By the way,
G.B.S. added as an afterthought, ‘she wore the loveliest
stockings I have ever seen and when I remarked about them,
she informed me that she was not wearing stockings but that
her legs were hand-painted.’

I think it was the carved mirror in our room that brought
up this ‘memory.’ He went up to the mirror, curled his mou¬
stache and looked defiantly at his image. He again settled

down and went on. ,

The girl Leigh (Vivien Leigh) was round to-day.

'Lady Hamilton? I forget how many times Winsto
Churchill has seen the film. I understand whenever
depressed he restores his spirits in that way.

114

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'It must be Nelson that attracts him! I thought of walking
through the village with her to attract attention to myself. I
was staying once in an island off the Adriatic with Gene
Tunney, the boxer, and Richard Strauss, the composer. When
all three of us walked together all eyes turned our way, but
when Strauss and I walked alone, nobody took any notice of
us. Very few people have an eye for greatness. Beatrice Webb
was a great woman, if ever there was one, but my mother was
never impressed with her. You see, Beatrice had the nervous
habit of tearing up flowers and my mother was a great lover
of flowers. "I don’t see what you find in her,” my mother
would say. And yet Beatrice loved flowers. Whenever we
walked on the Downs she would pick great bunches of wild
flowers, and when thirsty call at a farm for a glass of milk and
always be turned away because the farmers mistook her for a

gipsy-’

G.B.S. asked me if I had ever met Arnold Bennett. He
said: 'I don't get on too well with snobs.’

I didn t like his "shop front” but to his friends he was not
so sure of himself. He laughed at the self he showed to the
public.'

‘I was amused to hear,’ G.B.S. said, ’that he concluded that
the great world was not interested in Wells because there
were no Al people at the funeral of Mrs. Wells. I was there.
The fact is Wells, like myself, is not particularly interested in
the great world and the small fry who inhabit Babylonia. .. .
It was I who advised H.G. to enter the furnace room. I urged
him to take the boys with him because it was so beautiful.
Wells went and was glad he went. Did you know that Wells
was once a dramatic critic? He was appointed because he had
never been in a theatre. That's how most art critics are
appointed. That’s how we first met. I was sitting next to him
and he seemed to know who I was. We walked home together
and I admired him for the way he picked my brains. We’ve
been friends ever since, in spite of the fact that I hold that
iterary men should never associate with one another unless

115

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

they want their minds to produce literary abortions. It’s un¬
avoidable in the case of politicians, but all the same, have you
ever known of an idea coming from the House? And as to
religion, where two or three are gathered together, they invari¬
ably talk business, if they are not up to mischief. In a church
I must be alone. When I put this point to John Galsworthy,
he entirely agreed with me and got me to become a life mem¬
ber of the P.E.N. Club, an association of literary folk. Gals¬
worthy was by far the shyest man I had ever met.’

'I always wondered what happened when two shy people

met.'

That is why we did not meet often. However irreverent I
am, I couldn’t be irreverent in his presence. It was I who put
him on the map; he sent his Stiver Box to the Court Theatre
and I knew I had discovered a dramatist, as different in style
to mine as Galsworthy to Shaw. I liked him but I don t think
he cared for me. He has never forgiven me for not backing
his proposal that aircraft should not be used in war. I called it

pious piffle.’

That was in 1914, and now we were enjoying the spectacle
of cities being wiped out from the air. Every day bombers
came swooping over our chimneys, not disturbing Shaw s
work but probably putting a full stop to a Shelley and a Beet¬

hoven elsewhere. . T

The incessant noise of planes made sleep impossible, lru ,

in this little village, no warnings were sounded to add to e
tumult but we could not hear the owls for the planes.
managed to get in a wink or two during the day an oun
myself sleeping even on the early morning journey to Lo •
The carriages were always packed to suffocation an
never certain that we would get to our destination.

•Do you know,’ G.B.S. said, ’I was once recommended b
Horace Plunkett to take to flying as a cure for msomna H
tried it and it worked. He was seventy-five and did fi t
miles in fifteen consecutive minutes two ^ ousa ^ d . J
Very good, almost as fast as a car. Prince Paul

116

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

used to drive me faster because he found it safer to be fast. If
I took to flying, I wouldn’t be happy till I was doing three
hundred; the danger is that I may fall asleep while driving,
though Plunkett found it exhilarating and not at all fatiguing
after a few lessons. I must go for a joy ride again to see if I
have an air stomach and nerves. Plunkett took over the
machine after he had watched somebody else doing it and
found it as easy as dropping a bomb. He kept the machine the
right side up; which is more than the statesmen can do. The
only difficulty he found was in landing. I don’t think Charlotte
would approve. As I’ve given up driving a car and swimming,
I need some form of recreation, especially as it is safer in the
air than on land and it cures insomnia.’

He asked me what the train journeys were like nowadays,
and when I mentioned that King’s Cross was out of action
and I had to use Finsbury Park, he said:

'A man of fashion only knew Hyde Park. The Regent’s
Park held the Zoo and the other places the riff-raff in my days.
You did not walk in Hyde Park when the season was over; if
you did, you were regarded as a man lost to society and that
was all that mattered. I was to be found every season of the
year in Hyde Park because that was where I learnt my English.
As a foreigner, I enjoyed ideas and every idea was thrashed
out in the Park. You could learn much more by mixing with
the riff-raff at Marble Arch in one hour than by a thousand
walks from Hyde Park Corner to Albert Gate in the season.
Besides you could take your lectures lying down at Marble
Arch. The green sward is the natural couch of man, and the

people for whose sake you had to avoid everything that was
natural were not to be seen.’

I think he was feeling homesick for the Park.

Chapter 13

I THOUGHT AS I SAW HIM STRIDING RAPIDLY ALONG THE
bee-loud grove of Lamer Park how well he fitted into the
rural scene. He liked to think of himself as a walking tree he
told me, and it was not a bad description. He was rushing
from an extended tea with his other neighbour, Mr. Cherry-
Garrard, where he drank milk, ate nothing and talked, and I
was also in a hurry to get home and have a hot bath. I
had been firewatching in London and wanted to get clean
again and to find a little sleep, if possible. I had just
heard that a young friend, so-called gay and irresponsible,
had been shot down in a raid on Berlin. This death sud¬
denly made me afraid of my own company, humankind
cannot bear too much reality. I was not ready to think about
death.

G.B.S. said : 'They taught me to fox-trot at Lamer: Cherry
played the dance music and at the other end, not altogether
out of it, stood Christ pointing to the hole in his hand.’

If he had told me that Epstein’s Christ that stood there, had
stepped out of His bronze shell and joined in the dance, it
would not have surprised me; nothing surprised me. I had
seen so much suffering and bravery', quiet, unremarked and
anonymous, that the very generality of these things tended to
make me indifferent. I used to think that the aim of life was
heightened sensitivity', but I could now see that you can
reach a point of dispersal and at that point, to be left
with your own company is a dangerous thing. Bernar
Shaw could be extremely insensitive to another’s mood. He

continued:

'Cherry-Garrard came back with a beard as white as mine,

118

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

when, as a young man, he went out with Captain Scott to the
South Pole. And all to get a penguin's egg.'

'And now by plane you can get there in no time.’

'And if he had asked you, would you have advised him not
to go?’ G.B.S. asked.

'It’s very easy to be wise after the fact. Doesn’t he say in
The Worst Journey in the World that he doesn’t want to see it
done again and feels disposed to make it a crime to ship
men for the ice in vessels more fit to ply between London
and Southend? I suppose there is something satisfying in
having one’s moral and physical powers tested to the full?’

'Heroics! The whole thing could have been done in reason¬
able comfort. In this country everything has to be done
with the maximum of discomfort. If you enjoy a thing, there
must be something wrong with it. The only acceptable
religion is one which condones poverty and suffering and the
only thing which provokes laughter is another’s distress!
Anyhow, a man will do anything to become a schoolboy’s
hero, even play cricket.’

He told me that Charlotte and he were going to stay in
London because their housekeeper had to have an immediate
operation. I urged that London was no place for them but he
only laughed.

'Have no fear on my account. Let it get about in Germany
that I’m in London and they won’t touch the place. Haven’t I
said that I entirely agree to the Herrenvolk idea? By all means
let the Germans think they are the chosen people; I want the
negroes to think that the black face is the mark of a superior
people, I want the Chinese to be convinced that only those
with yellow skins are human and as to the Indians, it goes
without saying that they are the elect. The Irish already know'
they are nearest perfection, and all that is needed is the uni¬
versal use of Gaelic. Let each use his own tongue only and
refuse to mix with contemptible inferiors, except to destroy
diem. Anyhow I’d like to see what London is like and to
hear what they talk about at Marble Arch. Even if we do

119

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

go, it wouldn’t matter very much, we’ve had a pretty long
innings.'

A woman drove her tractor towards us, stopped it and
asked the time.

’I think I’ll do another couple of hours,’ she said when we
told her.

'I have watched this woman,’ I said while we watched her
circling the field. 'She works much too hard. She leaves her
house spotlessly clean before she starts out in the early morn¬
ing. How superior to the women in the Golden Staircase, the
degenerate women of the pre-Raphaelites. When you see
those paintings, you want to say:

Has God, thou fool! Worked solely for thy good,

Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food?’

We had now reached the gate but he wouldn’t go in with¬
out telling me that the pre-Raphaelite women were far from
being degenerate.

'Mrs. Morris made a startling impression on me. When she
came into her drawing-room in her strangely beautiful gar¬
ments, looking at least eight feet high, the effect was as if she
had walked out of an Egyptian tomb, at Luxor. She was the
silentest woman I had ever met.’

He shook hands and walked rapidly into the quiet

house.

In the late evening I went round with a book he had asked
for, but when I got to the door I felt I couldn’t enter. He was
singing in the hall to his own accompaniment. Charlotte loved
to hear him sing while she was in her bed upstairs. Though
very ill, she yet spent a good deal of the day downstairs,
interested herself in all his affairs as always and went up
to bed early. . . . There at the foot of the stairs stoo
the piano, so that Charlotte could hear his playing an

singing. ,

As I walked away and down the lane, I heard him loud an

clear, singing with much gusto into the night.

120

Chapter 14

THERE WERE MOMENTS WHEN THE ENJOYMENT OF ONE'S
own home seemed an extravagance to which no human being
was entitled. There was too much suffering everywhere.

As our children were now away, occupied with their duties,
we were free at last to give ourselves to causes which took us
far away from the village. Our neighbours were away in
Whitehall Court and this corner of the village was unin¬
habited. Occasionally, worn out with our duties, we would
rush back to steal a little of the quiet and beauty of Ayot
Saint Lawrence, so that we could go on with our work. Our
Scottie, of course, accompanied us everywhere but Fuzzia
stayed at home, being looked after by a friend.

On Sunday morning we would get up at five and catch a
train from London so that we should arrive as early as possible
at Ayot. Even at that early hour the trains were packed with
sailors, soldiers, lying fast asleep and helpless. The blinds
were down all the way and it was pitch dark. One such Sun¬
day, after a long week of arduous duties, when even sleep was
out of the question and food had to be snatched in the form
of sandwiches, we entered a compartment which happened to
be lit sufficiently to show us that our fellow-travellers were a
stout lady, highly painted up from lips to finger-tips, be¬
jewelled and wearing on the top of her head an enormous
hat, and in the other corner a young woman reading a tract on
world reconciliation; my wife put our little Scottie on the seat
next to hers and went to help me into the carriage by taking
one of the cases from me. When I sat down in the seat which
Tinkerbell was occupying for me I heard a violent tirade-
against my wife and her Scottie, now sitting on her lap, that

121

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

there should be a law prohibiting dogs, and especially those
’lazy’ women who spend their days doing nothing but
pampering pets.

'What do you expect from women who have never had
children?' The stout woman was shouting above our heads to
the other passenger, who agreed and added to this diatribe.

'Yes, that's why we have war. All these women who have
nothing better to do . . . they think dogs are more important
than people ... and nothing better to do than make mischief.’

Little did these two women know how far from the truth
they were.

It was a corridor train and so we went into the next
carriage, but we heard their voices high and pungent in agree¬
ment. In spite of the high purposes for which men and
women were giving their lives, the individual mind seemed

to be contracting into littleness.

When we came to Ayot our cat came forward to greet us.
Though we were always away for the whole week she was
always ready to welcome us by coming along the lane in our

direction, often a mile away from home.

It was during one of these week-ends that a call on the
telephone informed us that the worst had happened. Charlotte

had died.

We were away when he returned to Ayot St. Lawrence. We
were kept away for over a month on end and when we
returned I called on G.B.S. late one evening. He was delighte
to see me. He drew a chair to the fireside and bade me si

down.

'Charlotte's chair,' he said. ,,

He was correcting proofs for his forthcommg book and he

thought of nothing else it seemed.

'I am having an edition of eighty thousand for whidh

must do all the paying, and 1 don't suppose eight copies wu

sell, if that. Will my book manage to compete w ‘ th _
greyhounds and the wireless? Young people go to the enema

122

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

as a matter of course and won’t settle down to read my book,
a completely dull and analytical book. You mustn't expect
anything new in it, it is all a repeat of all the things I have
said in my other books the last fifty years. It is very difficult to
say anything new when you find that everything repeats itself.
There is Hitler walking into the Russian winter just as
Napoleon did.'

All this time the wireless was on, programmes changing
from talk to crooning, and neither of us paying the least heed,
the fire was gradually turning to ash and the proof galleys were
lying around on the floor by his chair. He sat in his wing arm¬
chair, bolt upright in his black suit and white shirt, his beard
well trimmed and his hair short and well brushed. Though
G.B.S. made a point of changing every evening for dinner, he
never had anybody to dinner. Suddenly he turned to switch off
the wireless and turned to me:

'Where have you been all this time? Why have you been
avoiding me? I have been round to your place several times
and you seemed to have left me in the lurch.’

‘Never,’ I said.

'I don’t know. The only people who stick to me like leeches
are those I don’t care for. I suppose it is so in your case?’

'I don’t find it so,’ I answered. ‘We have friends we have
not seen for many years and yet we know that the moment we
meet time will contract and it will seem as though it were only
yesterday that we had last met. We always think that our
friends are near. I think it must be the same with death.’

'I don’t know and you don’t know. It is no use talking
about things we know nothing whatever about. There are so
many things in this world that need our urgent and immediate
attention that we can leave all these other-worldly problems to
look after themselves.’

And yet I could not help feeling that he was truly con¬
cerned about death at this moment. Thomas Huxley, who had
similar views of death, in his advancing years hated the
thought of ultimate extinction and surprised his agnostic

123

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

friends by directing that the following words be inscribed on
his tombstone:

Be not afraid, ye waiting hearts that weep,

For still He giveth His beloved sleep,

And if an Endless Sleep He wills so best.

And had we not often gone looking at literature engraved on
tombstones and I even had in mind that his reason for coming
to live at Ayot Saint Lawrence was due to a tombstone inscrip¬
tion.

G.B.S. poked his fire and said:

'Taking things philosophically is not philosophy. It was an
insult to humanity for St. Paul to say that if the dead rise not,
then all that is left is to eat and drink and be merry, for to¬
morrow we die. If a person who is dear to you has been taken
away why should a man turn into a beast? As for Charlotte it
was better she should have gone. She had suffered more than
a human being can bear. I have never been much good with
illness. I always get out of the way.’

The conversation stopped dead. Consolation would obvi¬
ously have bored him and death was not a subject he cared to
discuss. Not at that moment. I changed the conversation by
recounting a story I had recently been told by a mathematician
about a professor of mathematics in the United States, know¬
ing how interested he was in mathematics. The professor was
accustomed to walk to the university reading a book and in the
course of his walk he had to go through a square in which was
a circular garden surrounded by a footpath. He was so absorb¬
ed in his book that he was found by a student one day wander¬
ing round and round this path, completely unconscious of the
fact that he was not moving in the direction of his college at a .

'I am getting as absent-minded as that, he said, but no
because I am absorbed in any particular subject. Mathematics
is the most interesting subject of all and I still hope to dip into
it though I don’t know the difference between a tensor and a

124

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

vector. The other day I had a similar experience. I was in the
shelter, after breakfast, when I needed a paper. I walked up
to the house and by the time I entered the dining-room I had
completely forgotten my original intention and seeing the
breakfast things still on the table, I sat down and thought I
had to have my breakfast! ’

It was obvious to me that it was the statistical side of mathe¬
matics that he was dipping into at this moment, for, at his
elbow were bits of paper with notes and figures giving the
number of letters, the number of sounds, the number of words,
the number of lines on the different pages, with the triumphant
heading: 'Words in Book, 181,536.’

‘I have to clear away the accumulated rubbish and nonsense
of centuries,’ he said, 'I must get hold of the young.’ And
when he said young,’ how very young everybody looked to
him.

You see,’ he explained, 'I want to get hold of the young so
that I know I won’t be forgotten quickly.’

I had to assure him again and again that his book will
especially appeal to the young. I pointed out that the soldier
and sailor of to-day were far and above, in character and know¬
ledge, those of 1914. Our new responsibilities kept us very
much in touch with them and we knew. He laughed and said
that all generations were very much the same. They were all
bloodthirsty.

'I don’t find them bloodthirsty in the least,' I said. They’re
bored with war and do not play at heroics. They can’t even be
got to hate the enemy. Whenever they have a chance they
show interest in books and music. They are dance drunk, it is
true, but that is only natural to the age. I think as a whole
they regard war as a "nasty bit of business” and should be
forgotten as soon as it is over, as a young mother does after
birthpangs.’

Dont introduce birth into this silly business. Nothing is
being bom. This idea of something good coming out of
plague, poverty, war, is nonsense. It isn’t a struggle between

E 125

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

one concept of life and another. The only ideas that come into
this business are the scientific ideas; which side will come out
first with a universal slaughter machine. This war will be a
glorious victory for science even though the whole human
race perishes. My book is an ignorant old man’s attempt to
knock sense into a young and foolish world.’

'Do you remember Samuel Butler after years and years of
argument coming to the conclusion that the best way of deal¬
ing with those on the other side is to pretend to agree with
them? It piques the opponents far more and makes them far
more uneasy if we make them see that we do not care one
straw what they think. This makes them suppose that we must
feel strongly enough not to want their support and the more
they think this, the more of their support will they give us.’

'I know,’ G.B.S. said smiling, 'but Samuel Butler was get¬
ting old when he was talking like that.’

There was a flicker and all the lights went out and we were
left with the faint glow of the wood fire. The housekeeper
brought in a couple of lit candles which were placed on either
side of an early photograph of him in the Mcphistophchan

I had only to mention a name to bring forth many a tale.
He came in with information about Samuel Butler whom he

knew well: ,, .

'When he completed Erewbon Revisited the trouble was to

get a publisher for it, as there was a real danger of people

wanting to read it. Longman’s turned it down because 1

might offend the High Anglicans, not realizing that the secre

of success is to offend the greatest number of people, n

wrote to me as a last resort to recommend him to> a man in

whom he could have reasonable confidence. I invited Gra

Richards, my own publisher, and Sam to lunch, but only after

preparing the ground. I told Richards that he would meet a

shyold bird, and I told Butler that my publisher would quak^

in the presence of so eminent an author, and so I co

126

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

forward to an enjoyable meal. Result: Grant Richards agreed
not only to publish Ereivhon Revisited but a new edition of
Erewhon. There is one point Butler made which is worth
bearing in mind : "A little levity will save many a good heavy
thing from sinking.” I, myself, cannot always successfully
subdue my tendency to seriousness and that is why, I sup¬
pose, that profound statement must be taken seriously to heart
by those who want to save many a good heavy thing from
sinking, especially when the heaviest thing of all nowadays
is the heart. He told us an excellent story about Richard
Garnett. A Siamese prince was taken round by Garnett and
Butler to see the British Museum reading-room and naturally
Garnett as the chief wished to impress the prince. They
showed him among other things how the place was heated.
Neither was mechanically minded but Garnett felt that our
good relationship with Siam depended on the successful heat¬
ing of the reading-room.

And how does it work?” asked the prince, more inter¬
ested in engines than in books. Out came Butler with: ‘'Dam¬
nably.” What on earth did it matter whether the prince was
offended or not. The British Museum was built to house
revolutionaries who generate their own heat.’

Once on Butler, there was no stopping. He continued:

You know Butler thought of becoming a pavement artist,
as he could put his expensive university education to no other
use. In that way he resembled William Morris. He got the
idea from one of his tenants who made a good respectable
living that way and turned one of his rooms into a studio
I myself might have come to that if the office was the only
alternative; there are so few openings for people who don’t
want to work. Well, as I said somewhere else, Butler had no
style at all, which is the supreme sort of style/

We went for a walk across a field path towards Codicote
and I told G.B.S. that I came across a lane in that village
called Cowards Lane, and I asked a villager how the la£e
came to be called in that way. It was an old man and he

127

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

remembered how dangerous it was for a Welwyn man to ven¬
ture on the road to Codicote because of the hatred one village
had for the other. Codicote youths would attack Welwyn
people and vice versa. Cowards Lane was the way of circum¬
venting the road and avoiding trouble.

'That's the lane for me,’ G.B.S. remarked. 'I was coming
out of a meeting in London one day, when I overheard a lady
asking Cunninghame Graham who this fellow Shaw was and
I heard his reply: "The coward who left William Morris and
myself to face the police in Trafalgar Square. So you see
what path I would have taken if I had to walk from Welwyn

to Codicote. Have they come to terms by now?’

'I think they have both combined against any encroachment
by that newfangled city, Welwyn Garden City. They seem to
have strong w r ords to say against garden cities.

'If it w-ere not for the Garden City, where else could I have
my haircut? My address is a Welwyn one, my telephone is a
Codicote one and my barber is in Welwyn Garden City, so 1
war breaks out my way will have to be down Cowards Lane.
Mine has always been the lonely track. We are fortunate
people, we have lived to see wars fought on a really large
scale; for similar causes, but what talk and what weapons.

Hobbes, the philosopher, at the age of ninety, sang to
strengthen his lungs and prolong his life; but he only dud.
when the doors were barred and he was sine nobodyheard

him, for his voice was none too good. G.B.S. ofte " ; [
song to illustrate a point and his vo.ee was a good testnnon.al

to The Method'. We were listening to the singing
Robeson on the wireless of course, and he | 0 .ned in, almost
drowMng Paul's voice. I told him of Paul Roteon s vasitto
Frank Harris in Italy and how the old mani boastred f ^
editorship of The Saturday Rer/m when he had th
most promising young writers in the world : We ,

and I think the third was Max. barter

’Frank Harris was really a mild and inoffensi

128

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

the kind of person one should guard against. Those three
haven’t done too badly.’

'The other G.B.S. called on Paul Robeson one day and only
his wife was in. Mrs. Robeson seized the opportunity of
praising her husband to the skies: the grandest man in the
world, the most intelligent, the most gifted, a great artist, and
yet so modest, so simple.. .

'And who is the other G.B.S.?’

'G. B. Stern.’

'I can’t call myself Bernard Shaw because there is a musi¬
cian by that name, and I daren’t call myself G.B.S. because
there is a professional writer who uses those initials, what on
earth can I call myself? Charlotte was like Robeson, you
know. She married a genius and she wouldn’t have a word
spoken against me. It makes it very difficult for the husband.’

I switched off when the singing stopped and he said:

'I get cables from everywhere asking me for articles on this
cursed war as if it were being run for my benefit. They are
willing to pay me whatever I ask. I'm a poor hand at pushing
and meddling in things that don’t concern me; I haven’t got
the parochial mind and therefore not up to the great issues
involved. They’ll go on shovelling men and money down the
drain until men are worth more than money and then they’ll
stop. I feel like the Arab who was so ashamed of our civiliza¬
tion that he took out his European false teeth and crushed
them to bits.’

He helped himself to chocolate and grumbled, Nowadays
they make soap and call it chocolate, they give you paraffin
and call it fruit juice. This war will be the death of me.’

He put another chocolate into his mouth and continued:

I once had a project of releasing people from reading my
books if they paid a small fee. Hitler by throwing a few
incendiaries on my books has hit on a better idea. Insurance
companies now pay me because the readers can no longer get
hold of my books. Books are always the better for not being
read. Look at our classics; it has always been my ambition to

129

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

write a play which nobody whatever would want to act and so
establish myself as an immortal. Samuel Butler almost suc¬
ceeded in writing books which nobody read and he, you will
admit, is in the front rank of writers. He, however, had a con¬
solation which I never had. You will remember that when
his friend Fuller Maitland rebuked him for being so hard on
his sister, because she was really a very good woman and she
would go straight up to heaven, whereas Samuel Butler was
destined to the other place, Samuel replied: "I am not afraid
of anything of that kind. The Almighty’s taste in literature
is far too good to allow of his committing such an error.” ’

The days were shortening rapidly and even though the
clock registered an early hour and two hours earlier than the
sundial, G.B.S. had to shorten his visits because the darkness

blinded him.

’One day I’ll fall and not be able to get up,' he said to me
as I saw him to the gate. 'Luckily for me I had theatrical
training and can stage-fall; that avoids any real damage to
myself. I fell this morning in my garden and stayed th ^ re for
quite a time, and when I eventually did get up, I found there
was nothing wrong with me because of this stage-fall. It in¬
volves much presence of mind, though with me it is almost
automatic. You know, as soon as we know how to do a thing
exceedingly well, consciousness in respect of it vanishes
swimming for example, and cycling. However difficult it w*
to acquire these things, once mastered they became part a
parcel of you, and children are born with this unconscious
knowledge through their ancestors. Breathing and walk.ng
were acquired through the efforts of our ancestors and so were
the upright posture and balance. Only, as Lee: d.scover«h aU
the established methods were wrong and therefore ffie e
things had to be learnt all over again. When I was ffiught ‘
relax by an American lady I discovered how heavy the h
really is. She made me lie down on a couch w.th my he
hanging off the couch. For all these years I had not

130

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

how to relax at will, and as she told me I must have been
sleeping without proper rest. I was a timid young man when I
first came over to England, and by the way, I thought, like all
Irishmen that every Englishman was an aristocrat, and Lee
advised me that if I was to do anything at all in public I must
create a voice that even if I spoke rubbish the people would
still be enthralled. I am the most spontaneous speaker in the
world because every word, every gesture and every retort have
been carefully rehearsed.’

The night was upon us and the lane was lost in complete
darkness. He leaned on my shoulder and I went with him to
his own door.

He was convinced that he was one of the few people who
could control his temper in emergency. Compared with
Hyndman and Morris he was as cool as a cucumber.

By giving myself a bad reputation,’ he said, 'my few acts
of goodness cause such astonishment that they become the
subject of praise and the rest is forgotten. And so I get a repu¬
tation for being the kindest of people and the gentlest. When¬
ever Charlotte and I missed a train, say, she was helpless and
would stand for at least ten minutes as though stunned. She
could not stop bemoaning the loss of the train for long after¬
wards and naturally blamed me. But I always took the situa¬
tion in hand and pointed out that we had only to get a porter
to call a taxi. I never lose my nerve. But once, in Africa, I was
driving and the car took it into its bonnet to go its own pace
and where it willed. Charlotte was sitting beside me and she
was quite unperturbed because she always thought that I could
do anything, but suddenly the car flew into a ditch, jumped
and overturned. Charlotte was hurled out and miraculously
escaped with only a few bones broken.’

'Cars can be like that. The other day I had a lift to London

a T * neatby Villa S e ' He was 1 8° od dr ' ver but

a bad debater, having to use his hands in order to prove his
points. At one moment he got so excited that he forgot he
was driving a car and at full speed at that, and to drive home

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

an argument, let go the wheel and used both hands on an
imaginary map of Europe to place the different armies and to
show how our strategy had proved inefficient. When a con¬
crete post stopped us from flying into a ditch, the argument
yielded to caution and we continued sedately into London.’

'I never speak in a car and fortunately have a chauffeur who
never utters a sound, not even about the weather. I didn’t even
lose my head when I was actually drowning, when out swim¬
ming with Robert Lorraine. I simply wondered what Char¬
lotte would think if I were late in getting home. She could not
believe that a mere ocean could extinguish a light like my

own.’

We were ploughing through a luxurious crop of nettles in
the much neglected ruined church and came upon an arch of
carved stone vitalized by a pretty pattern of ivy carving.

'William Morris would have liked this. Like all athiest revo¬
lutionaries he was all out for preserving churches. That little
bit of carving is worth more to lovers of beauty than all the

pretentious tombstones put together.’

He went round examining all the tombs most carefully as
though he had never seen them before, now and then stop¬
ping to take a photograph.

'I hear,’ I said, 'that William Morris s tomb is sadly

"^AU tombs are neglected sooner or later ’ he saW.'*at'S
why cremation is such a good thing. My ashes w.U be mixed
inseparably with Charlotte’s which are being kep for that
purpose and then when that is done neither of us wd concern
ourselves with what happens to them afterwards; most y
they will be scattered over the garden.

132

Chapter 15

'don’t talk to me about that hackneyed myth, the
Irish race! There is no Irish race. We are a parcel of mon¬
grels; Spanish, Scottish, Welsh, English, and as to the purity
of the Huns, weren’t they born of evil spirits who mated with
witches in the dreary deserts of Asia? All this talk of purity
of race leaves me cold. The more mixed it is the better, and
the quicker that happens, the sooner we shall get some sanity
in the world.’ He spoke like this because the Russian Govern¬
ment had discarded the International and had frowned upon
any suggestion that the past had not been glorious if some¬
times unhappy, and it was obviously a definite reversion to¬
wards extreme nationalism.

I am a cosmopolitan by temperament and have always
found that the so-called national is an imposture which only
impresses an audience as a comic character. I have laughed
these people out of court in John Bull’s Other Island and in
Geneva, but they still have the impertinence to exist. I told the
German ambassador when he congratulated me on my seven¬
tieth birthday, there is a supemational republic of thought
and art, of which I am but a very humble member. Anybody
who had worked in the British Museum as I have done,

amongst people of every nationality, cannot shut out the rest
of the world.’

One of the De Havilland’s latest planes screeched over our
heads shook the house and whisked over the trees and awav

mt0 . ?l e d ‘ sta ^ clouds. T*™ toere was silence. Not a sound

could be heard in this little village of ours, this very isolated
village.

I broke the silence. 'Years ago I went for a long walk with

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

a German professor of English literature who did his best to
make himself agreeable by comparing the literature of both
countries, ours and his. To bolster up his own superior claims
he suggested that it was to Germany you owed your recogni¬
tion in Europe as a thinker and dramatic poet. .

'Perfectly true. In England I was regarded as a dangerous
and disreputable person. My debt to Germany is incalculable,’
G.B.S. interrupted.

'Good. It was a day like this, gentle and quiet, and we
settled down by the river at Kimpton and enjoyed the extra¬
ordinary peacefulness of our countryside. He was all out to
impress me with Germany’s greatness and to what depths of
despair Socialism had reduced his country. There were evil
influences, such as Ernst Toller, Thomas Mann and Wasser-

mann

iiui ••• ,

'Great writers are always evil influences,’ G.B.S. inter-
rupted once more. 'Second-rate writers are not wicked enough

to become great.’ . .,

'That was exactly what he made a point of proving. He told

me that Ernst Toller stole jewels from passing ladies an

when I treated this extravaganza with the laughter it deserved,

he was insulted. With him it meant a long sulky silence He

was a Junker of the old school and was not accustomed to be

contradicted. He made statements which were to. bei take

down by his students as gospel facts. However, he thawed

more quickly that time and was willing to enjoy lunch w th us

bv the river We talked religion then and as I did not want to

spoil his meal I refrained from argument and so he contmued

with his statements. I now learnt of another gr p
pher, Professor Lipp, whom he knew personally and whom he

regarded as the greatest thinker that ever live , g

^■"•TnTrove to you " the professor said, "how original Pro-
f T ° P n r ° V fs I wUl tell you of a wonderful statement he

S' L r,S.rSi- s - -- £ ‘“i;

„ If p«pl« "P “ *” "*“■ “*

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

would change and become what God intended it to be. You
have no such philosopher in your own country!”

'I could not help pointing out that I had heard that saying
before. He would not hear of it. He stood up, he was a very
tall upright figure of a man, and I thought he would challenge
me to a duel forthwith.’

'Conrad challenged me to a duel,’ G.B.S. said. ’Unfortu¬
nately Wells got in the way, otherwise Conrad would have
taken his place among the saints. My answer to him would
have been that it is unwise to do unto others as you would
that they do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same. For
example, if a meat-eater like G. K. Chesterton wished, as a
good Christian, to do unto me what he would like me to do
to him, he would send me a roast chicken and some whisky,
but they would be as acceptable as water would be to him.
Our tastes were somewhat different.’

The statement of his which has stuck in my mind was that

in an age which has nothing to say, the loud-speaker was
invented.’

G.B.S. looked at me quizzically. ’I thought it was I who
said it. Doesn t matter, let it pass. Nobody, however, could
call G.K.C. a loud-speaker! He never grew up in spite of that
huge body of his. Anyhow, we enjoyed ourselves together,
standing on our heads and proving that black was white.’

You both dramatized yourselves very well.’

S° w ell, that when I appeared at a rehearsal where the
poor dramatist made a desperate effort to include me as one of
his characters, the stage manager, not expecting my personal
presence thought I was the impersonation and rebuked me for
being nothing like the man Bernard Shaw. He shouted:

What he would say if he saw this weedy old tiling, I daren’t
say. Or something to that effect.’

As he spoke, he pulled himself up and mocked the move¬
ment of the stage manager. ’You would have done well as an
actor and ousted Henry Irving, no doubt.’

'A man of intellect makes a bad actor. I was unfortunately

135

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

endowed with a brain, otherwise, like Shakespeare, I would
have fitted quite well into a touring company. There is one
thing in my favour, I can work with other people. I was
always a poor hand at pushing and struggling but I might
have been able, if permitted, to improve on the text, as I did
in Cymbeline. . . '

'I am surprised that you should have permitted yourself to
improve Shakespeare, when you do not permit even your film

producer to alter a word of your own text.’

'Give me a person greater than Shaw and I'll permit him
to spoil my work beyond recognition. He brought out his
watch, scowled, then immediately smiled happily.

'Of course, I needn't hurry. You know, I feel dreadfully

hungry these days/

I knew that this hunger was mainly due to his loneliness
which he tried to cover up even to himself.

He now came almost every day because we were working

at h i°was looking through Charlotte’s papers and discovered
that she had considerable literary talent. There was a un
of letters, correspondence between herself and T. E. haw
rence they were great friends, which surprised me. 1 did not
know that she could write as she did She might have made a
good romantic novelist. Anyhow, Chariot e ma ‘ Qne

genius and there is no room for a couple of g
house; one of them has to give way to the other.

But what about the Webbs? They were equals, working

X’eWebbs are an exception. Nothing like it has ever hap-
pened before. Wells didn't know them, I did.

'The Brownings!’ , tfh e romance

The Brownings. Any amount.is ^rittenabo ^ ^

of the Brownings, but dough their ry ^ ^ ® all
romances of the world, I doubt wheth they Webbs

Gossip there will always be about them, but witn

136

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

there can be no gossip; they will be remembered by their
work. As I have said, the prophet of the race will be the
political economist. There is nothing like prosaic work. I had
a grand time at the vestry worrying about drains, dust destruc¬
tors and instituting women's lavatories. The Webbs made a
romance of reality and when I want good literature I go to
them and know I get the whole truth. When a person takes
you aside and asks you what rent you pay and whether your
boots pinch, you know that he is interested in you. The Webbs
had that curiosity about life in a magnanimous spirit; they
missed nothing and saw everything. Charlotte got to know
them because she wanted to do something with her money.’

'I always think that you would never have written as well
as you did if it were not for Charlotte. In the future a Samuel
Butler will come along and prove that it was Mrs. Homer and
not Homer, who wrote the Odyssey, that it was a Charlotte
Shaw and not the fabulous Bernard who wrote the plays and
prefaces!’

You know how he hit upon the Mrs. Homer idea, which

put out every authority and pedant and made him an Ishmael

among them? He wanted to compose music, when he gave

up art, and hit upon The Adventures of Ulysses by Charles

Lamb. When he referred to the original poem he felt sure

that the man who wrote it was drawing the whole thing from

life. It was so good that he felt it must be the work of a

woman and not by an old man. He had the highest opinion

of women and I believe he didn’t marry for that reason. Of

course, Butler could never have afforded to keep an intelligent
woman.’ &

The new rector was sitting with us when G.B.S. came in.
fully" 1 Bromle y' Bourne ’’ said the «ctor, standing respect-

(TB.S. was puzzled. 'Are you quite certain?’ he asked
replied 1 ’ ** f “ ** ° nC “ be Certain in this world >' the rector

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'George Lansbury was unmistakably Bromley bom. When
I helped in the strike of the match-makers sixty years ago I
got to know the accent very well. I’m Dublin, you know and
Ayot by adoption,’ G.B.S. explained.

'It was very good of you to be present at my induction,’ the
rector remarked.

'Oh, you mustn’t mind me. I’m a sort of unofficial Bishop
of Everywhere. I qualify because I was a freethinker before I
knew how to think. When my friend, Dr. Inge, was made
Dean of St. Paul’s somebody remarked that he was the best
man for the post because he was a Buddhist. The first moral
lesson I can remember as a tiny child was the lesson of tee*
totalism instilled by my father. One night when I was still
about as tall as his boots, he took me out for a walk. In the
course of it I conceived a monstrous, incredible suspicion.
When I got home I stole to my mother and in an awestruck
whisper said to her: "I think Papas drunk. When is he
anything else?” she replied. By the way I found the church
door closed the other day.’

'There have been so many robberies in churches lately that

we decided on taking precautions.’

’Oh, that’s not my motive in going to church. I go for
recreation. I like the solitariness. . . . When Queen Victoria
was eighteen, they came to her and told her she was Queen
of England. She asked whether she could really do what she
liked, and when this was reluctantly admitted by her careful
mother, Victoria considered what wonderful and hitherto im¬
possible happiness she could confer on herself by her new
powers. And she could think of nothing more delightful than

an hour of separate solitary confinement ’ p

'Then for your sake the doors must be left open, the rect

^■Oh'no, not for my sake. There is the danger of having
people praying all over the place. A p.ous Frenchman visit
ing Westminster Abbey knelt down to pray. The verg ,
had never seen such a thing before, promptly handed him

138

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

over to the police and charged him with brawling. Fortunately
the magistrate had compassion on the foreigner’s ignorance
and even went the length of asking why he should not be
allowed to pray in church. The reply of the verger was simple
and "If we allowed that,” he said, ”we should have people
praying all over the place.” The fact is I’m a moralist. You
see, the stage works as an instrument of moral propaganda
because it exhibits examples of personal conduct made intel¬
ligible and moving to crowds of unobservant unreflecting
people.’

I recalled the dispute between Laurence Housman and the
Lord Chamberlain when permission to perform Pains and
Penalties was refused. The censor insisted on the omission of
the word 'adultery.' Housman pointed out that the word in
question was uttered in the churches every Sunday before
women and children. Came the reply ‘In church it meant
nothing, but on the stage it meant everything! ’

The rector stood up to go. He said ’We consider you here a
pillar of the Church.’

'I know exactly what you mean,’ G.B.S. answered winking

an eye. 'There is already one ruin in the place, we don’t want
two.’

It was difficult to carry on a conversation in the evening at
his own home because he sat in the dining-room and the wire¬
less was always on tap.

'I have to have this wretched noise in the room so that it
can be relayed into the kitchen. I’ll try and make myself heard
above the dance band and the crooner. I’ve had training in
the open air where I had to fight against brass bands and every
kind of interruption. Often I felt like stopping my speech
and conducting the band instead.’

The proofs were lying round him, a greater heap than ever.

I hey lay like foam round his feet, books and papers and
manuscripts lay scattered on the dining-room table, seemingly

139

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'I thought that you had finished with this book at last,’ I
said.

'I never finish anything. At a certain point I have to say:
full stop! Otherwise I would get nothing else done but re¬
write my work all over and over again. One must put a limit
to the time to be devoted to a piece of work. This wretched
thing has taken me years and I won’t want to see it ever again.
People are always surprised that I only go to see my plays
once, but my own work is put behind me once I have finished
with it, and I never want to hear about it. William Morris
always hid his work behind a curtain.'

'Did you like William Morris all the more after you had
seen him and known him intimately?’ I asked.

'His presence vitalized his work as he vitalized everything
he touched. What about you? Have you read any of my work
since you have known me so well?’

'Some authors I have met have made me lose interest in

dieir work, others create a new interest. In your case, the latter
is true. There are many things in your works that I would
have missed without this intimate acquaintanceship with you.
In fact when I see any of your plays done now, I always feel
they are far off the mark.’

'That’s a great pity, because I am dying of the fatal disease of
being Shaw and soon the plays will have to go on without me.
With Galsworthy and Bennett the plays stopped dead as soon
as they died, but with Chekhov they only began to make them¬
selves felt after his death and I am glad because Chekhov is

the greatest dramatist of all.’

'Such nice people, so cultured and so futile! ’

'The point to remember is that Chekhov in giving u
Russian life gave us the life of every country house in Eng¬
land, in the same way as Ibsen gave us every provinaa hou
in the world. Tolstoy blew up such homes with h s fierce
language, but Chekhov gently let them go to the Miffs. T
be gentle is to be very wise ... not an easy thing, I can
you. To be wise is to be misunderstood.

140

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

| He asked me to examine a manuscript on the table. He

said:

'I glanced through this and it reads quite well. Who on
>, earth sent it, I don’t know. Why do all the budding dramatists
I presume on my generosity?’

I too glanced through it and thought it very good. I imagined
a young author hopefully posting his work to the great drama¬
tist, eagerly awaiting every post. Perhaps an immediate invita¬
tion . . . perhaps an introduction to a theatre manager. Such
things were known to have happened. Had not William
Archer done so to the very great man himself?

In a modest corner of the cover of this manuscript I found
the name of the author in very small hand :

Charlotte F. Shaw,

19, Adelphi Terrace, w.c.2.

I said nothing.

'Getting a play produced,’ he pronounced, 'is all a matter
of chance. A manager may be at the moment hard up for a
play and in his overcoat pocket there lies one which he did
not mean to look at. He suddenly comes across it on a dull
train journey to Aberdeen and he reads it because he may not
have anything better to do. Perhaps the famous playwright
whom he has asked to write for him has nothing ready and he
has the theatre on his hands. It is better to risk failure than
vacuity and that is when the new playwright steps in. I have
only to commend a playwright to make him the butt of every
manager and later of the pawnbroker! I have, myself, made
many an author by tearing him to bits, as the lions assured
Christianity by tearing a few harmless fanatics to shreds. I’ve
never helped a soul by praising him.’

141

Chapter 16

ON THE WHOLE HE WAS A MAN OF EQUABLE TEMPERAMENT

and he gave me the impression when he lost his temper that
it was premeditated. Discipline was part and parcel of his
nature and every gesture studied, probably with the help of a
mirror. I remember once surprising a politician while he was
practising a speech which he was to deliver at a large gather¬
ing, before a full-length mirror, and being produced by a
specialist in gesture and enunciation. G.B.S. lived even in his
most secret moments as if the whole world were watching.
Or did he have, like other great men, a haunting spirit to keep
him up to the mark?

One Sunday when I had just returned from a Friends
meeting, he and I talked about the Quaker faith. He said
that he was a Quaker by temperament but not by faith. He
could not define his faith and did not want to, but the ac¬
cepted mythologies did not appeal to him. He said:

'What an amazing title for a religious organization:
Friends! That in itself was a stroke of genius. I believe m the
discipline of silence and could talk for hours about it. There
is nothing more impressive than spontaneous prayer because
it involves long and arduous preparation. I have always given
my speeches an air of spontaneity and in that way achieve
something of a reputation as a wit, but I was an actor saying
his lines like any other Quaker. How well the words of the
scriptures sound when uttered spontaneously by a Friend an
how well my words will sound when, in the near futxire they
will be uttered in every place of worship. I am all out k,
healing through art and the Quakers^ denymg these thmp.
deny the very essence of religion. There rs as much h^lmg
power in a Beethoven sonata or a parnt.ng by Constabl

142

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

as in the excerpts from the Bible. I have always agreed
with Samuel Butler that we need soul doctors, or, as he called
them, straighteners. I have always found that the best healers
were the artists.’

'I could not refrain from smiling at the memory of an
acquaintance, who, having similar views, painted her small
sitting-room, as a book on colour told her, each wall a differ¬
ent colour to suit her moods. She would sit facing the wall
with the appropriate colour and was thus uplifted. She hap¬
pened to be a neurotic woman and her illness did not improve,
but she had for a while the satisfaction of knowing that her
semi-detached house was different from all the others in the
neighbourhood.’

'She should have consulted an artist and not a book. What
is the use of books? Did she know anything about colour or
perhaps she was colour-blind?’

'Most likely, judging by the colours she inflicted upon her¬
self.’

'Anyhow it was a sure way of securing the room to herself.
No sane husband could keep her company in such a room.’

'Luckily the husband was a sailor! ’

'To go back to the Quakers,’ he said, 'in the Great War,
Number One, I pleaded before a tribunal for a fellow-Fabian
and almost converted the military representative, at least I
made him laugh, which was more than this representative
deserved, but unfortunately this Pacifist friend was repre¬
sented by counsel who insisted on giving a long and wearying
account of the history of Pacifism, starting with Cain and
ending in disaster. It was dinner hour and an Englishman
automatically stops thinking at one o’clock, but this stupid,
inconsequential lawyer insisted on ignoring this fact. The
result was the wrong fellow went to prison. Talking about
hunger, I remember once, at a Socialist conference, calling at
my hotel and finding all the leaders standing disconsolately
around a fire, looking as if the social revolution had come and
left them far behind. They were silent for a change and so I

143

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

could hear a rumbling which I ultimately located as coming
from their tummies. Then Hyndman spoke up at last. "The
Countess of Warwick has invited us to dinner and has for¬

gotten all about it." ’

'What would you have done,’ I asked, 'if you were young
enough to fight?’

'In fact, I never was young enough. In the next war, when
the old men and women are called upon to do all the fighting,
I shall be eligible. That will be a testing time for me, because
everything I have uttered will be used against me; not only
my own utterances but the sayings of all my characters.

The relationship between an author and his characters, be¬
tween a man and his words, between a man and his conscience.
. . . I quoted William James as saying: 'Man, biologically
speaking, is the most formidable of animals, of all beasts of
prey, and indeed, the only one that preys systematically on its
own species.’ It certainly looked like it. In spite of the amaz¬
ing courage and solidarity shown in the war, we were inclined,
all of us, to take the lowest view of human nature. In these
days of faith, that is all we had to depend upon at that
moment, we all affected a complete lack of belief. How cou d
one believe in a beneficent power when a chance bomb could

make a laughing stock of any sentient, dreaming creatu ^ e .

'Let us treat the men and women well: treat them as it they

were real: perhaps they are,’ I pleaded.

G.B.S. said: 'I turned a person, now an M.P., into some¬
thing real by incorporating him as a character in oc ?
Dilemma. He came to see the play and then sent me fifty
pounds in payment of an old debt. He thong
written the play only to get the money from him. No'I*
is real until he has been transmuted into a work of •
is why I can lose my temper when it comes to art.

•Didn't you say that if you believe in a thing you can laugh

at Did I? There's a lot of truth in it. But when it
I cannot be sane. I am always being asked: If I were God how

144

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

would I have created the earth? As a fellow-artist I would no
doubt have made a similar mess of things, but I would not
have made the mistake of making men without art to live in a
world of art. I would have ruled out from the very beginning
pain, poverty and piety.’

'You call this a world of art; yet it is the evil things that are
infectious and not the good things. Illness and persecution,
greed and lust . .

'Because the men without art got the upper hand of the
world. As I have said: sanitation is aesthetic, economics- is
aesthetic, as Ruskin proved conclusively, and religion is aesthetic.
The difficulty is that people have got so accustomed to having
life seasoned with crime and poverty that they cannot contem¬
plate a life without it. Like the peasants who are so accustomed
to having their food smothered in condiments that they find
the simple food quite uneatable, tasteless in fact. It took me
years to get accustomed to the natural taste of tilings.’

'Exactly, and these people you call peasants consider our
diet as "tasteless”, just as you consider theirs. All because ..

But I realized at once that I had made a mistake. . . . The
word "because” always irritated Shaw. He was not interested
in reasons. Reasons given may be right or wrong. He wanted
to get down to facts. He said:

'The people objected to Venus de Milo without corsets and
high heels. The simple thing is the most difficult thing of all.
I would have made the simple thing the most natural. But like
God I would soon have lost patience with the world and
drowned everybody. It was stupid leaving a single family.
What happened? The progeny of the family reproduced all
the vices of their predecessors so exactly that the misery caused
by the flood might just as well have been spared. Man, as an
experiment, has proved a failure.’

There was a knock at the front door and I went to open it.
A young man, looking like a Shelley, handed me a leaflet and
quietly informed me that I would be pleased to hear that the
reign of justice was at hand, that millions who had died would

145

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

be born again and all that was good was on the way. Was I
ready? If not, here was a book, priced five shillings and six¬
pence, which would not only show me the way but would be a
pass to this delivered world. I offered him a cup of tea but he
informed me that he only drank water, which his spirit turned
into wine!

When I returned G.B.S. reached out his hand for the book
and said:

'I am pestered every day with the literature of the insane.
Here is a note from a university proposing to set up a Chair
of Gerontology: the object is to develop a synthetic food to
enable persons to retain in their nineties the mobility and
resiliency of nineteen. Among the materials to be used are
horse-blood and the linings of pigs’ stomachs. The idea is for
me to subsidize it.’

G.B.S. had his long white mackintosh on, his old gloves
and a slasher in his hand. We were going for a walk along the
gloomy lane at the back of his garden. Smothered with nettle
and briar, the track led to Mr. Cherry-Garrard’s private estate.
In the Adam house here lived Epstein’s Christ. When I first
saw it as a youth it made a deep impression on me. Here it
stood in an illumined alcove, with one hand pointing at the
scar on the other. There He was, this sculpture of the Man of
Sorrows and acquainted with grief shut away in a wealthy
country-house. Whenever I passed this house I could see the
pitying eyes. Here was the symbol of a very real thing, aware

of all that happened in the heart of man. . . .

G.B.S. said: 'Beatrice Webb had a physical antipathy

Him.’

'Have you?’ I asked. , .

The problem of to-day is not how to bear the burdens, but

how to get rid of them.

I suggested: 'Both, surely?

He hashed away a line of nettles, while I used my secateurs
on the overhanging branches.

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'The Christian has been like Dickens’s doctor in the debtors’
prison, who tells the newcomer of its ineffable peace and
security, no duns, no tyrannical collectors of rates, taxes and
rent, no importunate hopes, nor exacting duties, nothing but
the rest in safety of having no further to fall.’

I could not accept this concept of Christianity. All of us
had to live within very narrow confines, but the fact that we
were thus restricted did not prevent us from living a good life.

He answered: 'Quite. If all people were like you the world
might be quite tolerable, but what the world would be like if
all were like myself, I daren’t contemplate. There is room in
the world for one Shaw only and, as we have proved, there is
yet no room for a Christ. His followers would be the first to
disown him if He appeared.’

'Especially if He came as depicted by Holman Hunt.’

'He would be crucified and I, Barabbas, the agitator, would
swing by his side. People are so wicked that their life would
be miserable without the consolation of religion. The Press
would, of course, be there, all clamouring for interviews and
articles at reduced rates!’

There was no sight of sky, the crowded young conifers
created a dead stillness and not a bird was heard. We walked
on in silence, he slashing at the resisting nettles and I repair¬
ing the frail wire which is supposed to prevent the entrance of
never-present trespassers. A fat rat darted across and was soon
lost in the wood.

I used to do this regularly, I had to create this path for my
own use,’ he said, 'thirty years ago it was just a wild mess here.
I had quite a job to clear it. Somebody must take the Garden
of Eden in hand and weed it properly.’

I don’t like the thought of your walking alone along this

path.’

He pointed to the murderous slasher and laughed.

As a matter of fact, I had quite a fall once and remained

helpless on the nettles for quite a time. Have you ever tasted
boiled nettles?’

147

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'Yes, it tastes very much like spinach and is an excellent
cure for nettle rash,’ I answered.

'Oh? No doctor would ever say so. For every illness there is
a natural cure, but it wouldn’t pay a doctor to admit it. I have
always claimed that if the doctor were only paid when he
actually cured you, or at least kept you in good health, he
would not exploit illness. I hold the extremely unorthodox
view that to write well one should be well. I know men who
cannot write until they have drugged themselves into insensi¬
bility by drink, tobacco and stale air. I’ve found that I write
more when under the influence of drink; but it is only quanti¬
tative and not qualitative. I had to eliminate most of the work
I had written as well as the stuff I had taken. Only an experi¬
ment, of course.’

'I myself can work anywhere and under any conditions but

I am happiest in the country.’

'It makes no earthly difference to me where I am, as long
as it is away from people and I can devote the morning to
writing. Dickens stopped thinking in the country and all the
best nature poetry has been written in town. I have always
been a solitary person and most solitary in crowds.

'But you have always seemed extremely happy in crowds.

'Leave the word happy out of it. I can tackle crowds and

twist them with a word.'

We now reached the stile which leads to an open field,
expected him to step over the fence with those long lean
legs of his, but he proved most cautious in cubing ;
grumbling at the rickety crossbar and the barbed wire
walked in the warm glow of the sun among the goMen^
■I'm happiest in the open fields. I have more in common

with the lark than the nightingale.'

'I am more at home in a wood, which has someth g

C1 “ always liked to escape into a cathedra, when lt:ou.d f

William Morris did some of hlS work i ^d. I

.cathedrals, and there wasn't one which he had

148

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

have always avoided people. In town they leave you alone,
they don’t know you from Adam, but in a village they know
all about you and much more than you know about yourself.
There is nothing more disturbing to the writing of a play than
knowing lots of people. When Charlotte and I were in Lon¬
don recently I lost my way walking in Southwark and not a
soul cared who I was. The children were playing among the
ruins, the gulls circled round my head and the policeman let
me pass without asking me for my identity card, which I have
always carried about with me. A young man noticed my pre¬
dicament and offered to show me the way. He told me as we
were walking together that he was studying medicine. I advised
him to read The Doctor’s Dilemma as there were so many cute
things said about doctors and I told him that I number many
of the greatest doctors amongst my friends. He said that he had
seen the play many times and that he thought it gave a fair
and sober view of the profession. I quite liked the word sober.
It so justly describes the commonplace originality of my work.
There is nothing more striking than a platitude. I am very
popular among doctors and teachers; they are like nettles, you
know, the more you slash at them the better they grow. . . .’

A labourer, bent double with rheumatism and toothless,
greeted us. 'Nice day,’ he said.

'Do you think so?’ Shaw asked straightening to his maxi¬
mum height and swinging his stick, gloating over his youth’
and vigour.

Ninety plus, for this labourer was reputed to be well over
ninety, stood for a moment with ninety minus and they had
nothing whatever to say.

In spite of the upright walk, the swinging of his stick, the
grandiose talk of high finance, the desire to be alone, we knew
that G.B.S. was lonely, very lonely. He would never admit this
even to himself. When he was lonely he became anxious to
3lace himself amongst the gods he despised. He spoke about
ds wealth, Charlotte’s wealth, the high taxation, his unique

149

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

position in the world of finance, of literature, of science, of
the theatre, films, and above all, philosophy. It looked as if he
doubted his prestige and had continually to remind himself
that he was wealthy and famous. It was rather hard for the
war was taking some attention from him and he knew too well
how easy it was to be forgotten.

Me came in and summarily asked for lunch. We were glad
of this mark of friendship and though it was already midday
a meal was soon forthcoming. He told us, as if he were eating
with us for the first time, that he disliked conversation at

meals, that at home he had the wireless on and read his letters
or his newspaper, that people did not look their best when
feeding, and he looked forward to the time when we would
all live on air and get rid of the sanitary preoccupations so
unpleasantly aggravated by our present diet.

It was quite a simple matter for us to remain quiet, brought
up to regard silence as significant as speech. We took it as a
test of friendship to be able to remain silent together. But
there was conversation all the same. We told him of the sel-
help cafes which had sprung up all over the country, of the

British Restaurants. G.B.S. was impressed. ,

'Now I would have liked such places years ago, when 1 used
to eat out. I like to take what I want, consume it in silence and
get out of the way. In my day you could get a permanent
heart-burn for a few pence when much literature was included
in the meal to justify it, when lentils and beans were con
sidered the meat of the vegetarian. The rage then was

m $£Z ‘JSi .» * ***** “.l 1 ". -

'It was Shelley who converted me to vegetarian*,
have been the only man who took his poetty seriously because

it was mainly women who attended the Shelley

see vegetarianism to Shelley, like marriage and atheism,

. .m - w ir *; “ r, p “

have changed so little since my youth. It s because f
them by poetry. As I always say, the aesthetic is the most

150

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

vincing and permanent. Shelley made his ideas sing, I make
them dance. I’m a little more mature: youth is driven by
despair, old age by hope. Despair will serve a reformer as well
as hope. He played the devil with all our convictions and will
be considered, with Morris and the Webbs, the most effective
propagandist the Socialist movement has ever had. He con¬
verted me, not by his suffering, but by the sheer logic of his
poetry. There is no falsehood, no calumny, no torture which
the mere expression of a simple truth does not provoke.’

But when I mentioned Harriet, G.B.S. quickly said: 'He
proved himself a gentleman. That action was understood by
the other gentlemen. In fact it gave me the right to suggest to
the authorities of University College, Oxford, that a mural,
representing Shelley in a silk hat, with Bible in hand and lead¬
ing his children on Sunday morning to the church of his own
parish, would be quite a worthy memorial to the man they
expelled. It would have been as true as most memorials to
celebrated people and certainly better than the pathetic image
of a dead and helpless figure erected at Christ Church Priory.
That’s the kind of memorial they’ll put up to me if I don’t
look out and do it beforehand.’

As he was talking, I began to wonder what Shelley would
have thought of this disciple of his? 'I risked everything on
his behalf,’ Shaw continued. 'At the Shelley Society I shocked
them all by publicly declaring myself a socialist, an atheist and
a vegetarian. What chance had I of getting a foothold in
polite society after that? Only by going all out and giving
Society no quarter. I praised it for the very qualities it despised.’

Yet, I could not help wondering what would have happened
if a despondent Shelley walked into his den? I am convinced
that he would have mocked at his unworldliness, and sent him
away weeping. But I am wrong, for Shelley was of good birth
and wealthy and these qualities appealed greatly to G.B.S.

He went home to his usual rest on the couch in the bay
window of his dining-room, where he threw his head back
and completely relaxed.

151

Chapter 17

rationing became a pretext for unsociability with
many people. You called upon a person, found him consum¬
ing an austere meal without even the thought of breaking
bread with you. Even if offered you were expected to refuse.
Times were hard, domestic service difficult to obtain and many
a busy wife found herself having to do all her housework, to
queue for food and to do war work into the bargain. The
strain on physique and temper was unendurable. Money was
easy to get but could not ease the burden of existence. Yet, it
the enemy offered us leisure, luxury and laughter, we would
have refused. We meant to see it through. We fought for the
things that meant most to us at the expense of these very
things. G.B.S. was fortunately cut off from the mood and
temper of the people. Ours was the only society he had and of
course the wireless. There were occasional visitors and occa
sionally visits to other places, but with us he was almost a daily
companion. There was"one woman 1 heard who comp me
of his high spirits so soon after the death of his wife, but ha
only proved "how little she understood hi- For weeks at
time we were reduced to worrying about his difficulties
getting indoor help. He even suggested living in one room
and letting the rest of the house go hang. The thought
being left S without a sen-ant was certainly frightening,
th^servants tending a senile man makes me uneasy, he
But in a moment he was talking about increasing his

because it makes a good impression. Field-Marshal

'I don’t want to be relegated to the rank of Held Mars

when I can still be an active general. f n H Lawrence

I enjoyed the pun for it recalled a vision of D. H. Lawre

152

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

in shirt sleeves doing all the washing up after a talkative meal.

' He always insisted on things being washed up immediately
so that the 'troubles’ shouldn’t accumulate. Lawrence was a
perfect general, a maid of all talk and work.

But Shaw did not mean general in that sense. He was think¬
ing of Napoleon moving armies on their stomachs, and Mont¬
gomery meeting desperate situations.

Then there was a change of mood.

'I’m going to die in my bed to-night,’ he said.

'You will outlive most of us,’ I assured him again.

'You had better take me seriously for once. I tell you I’m
going to die any day now. I didn’t wake once in my sleep last
night.’

I laughed: 'Of course, it is a sign of good health. You have
not looked so well for a long time.’

'That is also a sign,’ he insisted. 'Isn’t there Beethoven on
the wireless?’

'No. There’s a play of yours.’

'Then we can go for a walk. My plays make very good
radio. Have you ever listened to one?’

We sat down to listen and soon his eyes shut and it seemed
as if he were asleep.

G.B.S. had no intention of dying. There was nothing of
the too old at ninety feeling about him. With the book safely
behind him, he could give his time to his correspondence
which had by now mounted to giant proportions. All kinds of
people were giving him advice on how to grow older still,
how to dispose of his money, how to enjoy his solitude, how
to invest, what gods to invoke, how to breathe, how to bathe,
how to grow his food, what to do with a new moon and how
to face the sun. There were people from the other end of the
earth who offered him the very apparatus proved to have
doubled the life of rats and might prolong his if he invested
in its manufacture, and there were ladies who knew that they
were destined to look after his last years. Some of these people

153

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

couched their letters in such literary language that they
obviously spent much time in the composition. There were
those who wanted autographs and there were those who
had personal problems which only he could solve,
because he showed such wonderful understanding and
knowledge of their own particular situation in his plays. In
fact he might or must have had them in mind when he wrote

them.

All this time, while he was answering letters in a humorous
and lighthearted manner, what seemed a little cloud was reach¬
ing storm proportions, blotting out everything else. Inter¬
national and national affairs were forgotten. Every day now
he spoke about this coming catastrophe and all his ingenuity
was of no avail. If I offered any suggestion he would brush it
aside as if there was no possible help for him. We knew that he
had hardly spoken to his servants, had never in fact entered the
kitchen and did not know in what condition they lived. These
two the housekeeper and her husband, the head gardener,
and’valet combined, had been with the Shaws for over thirty
years and accepted as inevitable all the old duties and condr-
tions. Modern inventions which had made housework bearab
were not introduced. They never asked for amenities, were
thrifty, kindly and reserved and followed the dictum of the
mistress that one should not mix with the v.Hage. Mrs^ Shaw
hated gossip of any kind and would stop the first hint of sue
from anybody. An'd yet it did not prevent G.B.S. from know¬
ing everything that was happening in the Vl1 a S e ' H H
gathered his information had always been a mysteryto me^He
himself rarely spoke to anyone in the village an £ ha
tact with the villagers. He liked passing on h,s knowWge tt>
me with touches whidi can only be described as Shav an eX g
geration; like Duvallet in Fannfs Fnst Play, he enjoyed th
exhilarating, the soul-liberating spectacle of men quarremng
with their brothers, defying their fathers refusing to s^

their mothers. Yeats said it was an Irish ^‘ng
perfectly disinterested, this absolutely unselfish love of making

154

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

mischief, mischief for its own dear sake. There was no doubt
of it all being perfectly disinterested.

And now he was faced with his own domestic issue for
the first time. Until now it had been his mother, his wife.
It was staggering, especially as he hated change of any
kind. However unsatisfactory things might be, he preferred
them to continue rather than have the worry of new
adaptations.

But the two old servants determined to go, for as they put
it, they had the means and were independent enough to live
their own lives. They had nothing to lose but their chains. For
years they had looked forward, dreamed of this moment, but
loyalty to Mrs. Shaw had kept them meek, submissive, and
impersonal.

'Why not,’ I suggested to G.B.S. at one of these anxious
meetings, why not turn this opportunity to your advantage. At
last you have the opportunity to employ a woman with experi¬
ence in vegetarian diet. Until now it was difficult as Charlotte
was not a vegetarian, but now at last you can have someone
who will not only understand how to feed you but what is
more important, the aesthetics of it.’

I won t have cranks in the house. It’s bad enough with me
in it. I want a normal person who will not think of herself as
more important than myself. And anyhow, you can’t get a
vegetarian cook.’

'But you can,’ I insisted.

I sa y you can’t,’ he shouted. ’I’ve been told that you can’t.’

'Who on earth misinformed you? There are many who
would be only too glad to serve you.’ •

'Those are the very people I want to keep out of the house.

I want a person who knows her place and will not be in¬
terested in my ideas or read my books. I can’t stand Shavians.
This is a lonely place and it would be fatal to me to have to
entertain her. She must not think that she can rely on my
company. As you know, I never come up to expectation I
want a person to come, not in the spirit of self-sacrifice, to do

155

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

me good, but for the few pounds she can get out of me. No
servant is a heroine to her own master.’

'I was thinking of your welfare only.’

'I’m not an invalid. I’d rather die. And anyhow a vegetarian
cook would soon land me in Carey Street; I know.’

The solving of this problem in the most ordinary fashion
released his spirits and he became less self-pitying and more
sprightly. He was talking about Granville-Barker now; the
remarkable collaborator, Shakespearian scholar and producer
who became a great friend of both the Shaws, and then
suddenly went out of their life completely.

'Aubrey Smith played in my Admirable Bashville and
wanted to make up as myself. Nobody has ever succeeded in
doing that, not even myself, and nobody could say what was
wrong. But Granville-Barker came on the stage, saw what was
wrong at once and dabbed some white here and some white
there on the beard and Aubrey was transformed. On the first
night my mother came with me. When Aubrey Smith walked
on to the stage, there was loud laughter and again laughter
which held up the play. My mother was quite bewildered. She
turned to me and asked what the laughter was about. I tol
her that this actor was impersonating me. "You?” she said,

"but this man looks so elderly.” ’

'I always think that when you put down your comedic sense

to your father you do an injustice to your mother. It is from
her that you have inherited it. You owe everything to her.

'Perhaps you’re right. The comedic sense is more dose y
related to gravity than levity. I rose by the force of gravity.

made the laugh into an intellectual thing.’

I told G.B.S. of a visit to an exhibition where there w
paintings by Picasso and Burne-Jones. The crowds flocked
round the former and deserted the latter He said.
'Burne-Jones was a great artist and will come into hi

again. I heard a delightful story about Ins .

in Kensington. I was never there but I heard from Morns that

DAYS 'WITH BERNARD SHAW

be lived in grind style. He used to employ models and. of
course, whenever a visitor came these would run a wit to hide
behind a curtain. One dar a statesman and his wife called with
their son of ten. The artist and the tw o visitors cot talking and
the bey slipped away to explore the studio. He came back
quite excited to his father, a pillar of nonconformity: "Dad.
I've just been talking to Eve!" ’

'Thar kind of thing would not happen in a studio to-day.
The model would remain sitting and would probably be intro¬
duced and make one or the parry. There is no shame in the

• A m »

nude :

2Si -LTH51 5 >ruddO.

G.B.S. smiled. ’An actress had to come on the stace m a
long loose robe and for a moment she forger to hold it up and
it tell to the door. She had nothing on underneath, but being
a great actress she pretended that it was all intentional and the
enect was instantaneous. It was so wonderful that we were all
spellbound! However, that was the only tune it happened.
She never reoeared it.'

A

'Te all clung obsessively to our varied interests to keep our

ni:nc> on me war. Shaw s interests were ail-comprehensive.

bat he was giving a or eat deal of his tune to the drawing ur
of his will. w *

"^That's the fcunr?' I asked.

•

It's the only fun permitted nowadays. There must be many
expectant beneracrors who think I ve kept them wai tin g too
long. Some have died of the lingering illness of waiting. I
suppose I ought not to keep them dangling so long: thevll be
suggesting that there is malice in my survival, Many have
pven up all chance of earning an honest living and are Irvine
m the lap of penury boasting of their wealthy relative far
^way m toreign England. It is not a good thine'for people to
wiit tor money to be left to them. There is quite a lot of it in
Ireland. They live without the least knowledge of my desires
or interests. I shall not leave my money to individuals if I can
help it. I am leaving it to such institutions as I am interested

F 15”

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

in and I haven't yet made up my mind which. I am getting
hundreds of letters advising me as to what to do with my
money, that I should support poets, unrecognised artists, un¬
published authors and, of course, I am to finance every crank
organization in the world. I’ll do just what I want to do. Still,
I like people to write to me about it; it makes the humblest
deal with large sums for a moment. Do you think other
wealthy people receive so much gratuitous advice?’

'I rather think you are favoured more than others because
you have associated yourself with causes which are too un¬
popular to become wealthy, and also because they think that
you have a kind heart.’

'I thought that people generally concluded that that part of
my anatomy was missing! I have deliberately hidden it from
the public eye.’

Can one deliberately hide one’s heart?’ I asked him.

He looked keenly into my eyes, waiting for a retort rather
than a revelation. Nothing came, so he turned his eyes away
and said limply: 'I have never known love when I was a
child. My mother was so disappointed in my father that she
centred all her care on my sister, and she left me to fend for
myself. If I had not returned to the house I don’t think they

would, any of them, have missed me.’

'Your mother, then, was the perfect educationist.’

Yes. I see it now. My gratuitous meddlesomeness must be
a reaction to her non-attachment. With me, when a person
comes upon the scene I immediately give her the benefit of my
advice on how to do her job if she is a specialist, how to bring
up children if she is a mother, how to treat a husband. I treat
all people as malefactors in the same way as doctors treat a
people as invalids with the hope that they are chronic invalids,
especially if they live better and seem happier than mysel .

The moment you agreed with him he thought there must be
something wrong with his argument and e was P .
put the cL for the other side. He liked to be m a minority

158

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

one and so he insisted with all the pertinacity of a fanatic and
a rich fanatic at that, because it ran away with much money
and much time, on a new alphabet. Rich people have a way of
discovering drains down which they can throw their money
almost unnoticed. His new alphabet was to consist of not less
than forty-two letters and each sound was to have the distinc¬
tion of its own particular symbol. He had to confess that the
interest aroused in it was negligible but that only meant that
he was right. This alphabet was essentially a time-saving
device. The time saved would be phenomenal. In fact, if his
arithmetic were correct, ninety minutes would be saved in
each hour. As always he asked the advice of phoneticians,
statisticians and even politicians, and discarded their informa¬
tion if they disagreed. I wasn’t quite certain what people were
to do with the time thus saved. In spite of the handicap of an
illogical and confusing alphabet in use at the moment, G.B.S.
has managed to complete quite a handsome number of books
and it would have been worth while for our sake if his output
could have been trebled by the economy of his new alphabet.

His statistics satisfied him if they satisfied no mathema¬
tician. He argued as follows:

'In any fair and simple test between two experts copying
the same text for a minute in the present spelling and in the
phonetic, the time saved will come round about twenty per
cent. Such a figure impresses nobody, we might as well
attempt to move the Himalayas with a spoon, but the figure
leaves out the time factor. We are used to read ‘per cent” as
"per cent per year”; but in the test “per cent” is "per cent per
minute.” Now there are five hundred and twenty-five thousand
minutes in a year, therefore, the twenty per cent means a
labour saving of two months’ working days prescribed every
year. Multiply this figure by the number of persons and the
total is astronomical! The mere suggestion of it is enough to
sweep away the notion that we cannot afford the change. I am
the first to present this overwhelming calculation.’

All this was done to win a young Cambridge mathematician

159

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

with us at the time. G.B.S. waited for a response but there was
no response.

'Is there a fallacy in my argument?’ he asked humbly.

'There arc surely more pressing issues at the moment than
creating a new alphabet?’

'Nonsense! To a person with a toothache, even if the world
is tottering, there is nothing more important than a visit to a
dentist.’

This reminded me of another famous person spending a
whole week of my stay with him proving that if poetry were
written prose-wise, there would be a terrific saving of paper,
especially if all people took to writing poetry, a consummation
he had set his heart upon. The young mathematician, taken
aback at the fanaticism of sheer logic, fell back upon the time-
honoured time waster by suggesting the appointment of a
Royal Commission to investigate all the different ways of
saving time. G.B.S. took this suggestion to heart and himself
thought of financing such a committee of experts, and even to
make arrangements for this alphabet Commission to continue

after his death.

'It will be of immense benefit to everybody, from the child
having to learn to read and to write to the oracle who has to
advise thousands of people.’

The alphabet then gave way to the coupled vote. My wife
let the proposal slip in the course of a conversation, and he
appropriated the idea in the twinkle of a Shavian eye. He was
saying: 'If public affairs could be managed by one sex only,

I should vote for leaving them to women.’

'Women would make the same mess of it as men. I sugg
men and women equally, surely. The home is run that way,

why not the country?’ . t

He brushed the idea aside and. next time camels newly

inspired. He had a new plaything in the shape of a ne g

lature to consist of an equal number of men

'I gave serious offence,’ he said, ’when I warned the suffra

160

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

gists that votes for women would not secure the return of even
one woman to Parliament, and would do a great deal to pre¬
vent it. It is true that ultimately one Irish woman, and one
American woman, both titled and both very ignorant of Eng¬
lish ways, were elected to the English House of Commons, and
the Irish woman even refused to take her seat. I have sat on a
vestry myself on which women sat with men. I have seen the
effect when women were excluded by the substitution of the
new borough councils for the old vestries, and when the
women were brought back by the new municipal franchise. I
have seen a male health committee laugh uproariously when
one of the medical members raised a question about a woman
who was expecting a confinement, as if this was the primest of
jokes! I noted that when women appeared on the same com¬
mittee these very men behaved decently.’

'Women know only too well that things must be done; they
they have no patience with men’s trick of avoiding everything
and calling this practical.’

'Think what cowards,’ Shaw agreed, 'men would be if they
had to bear children. Women are an altogether superior species.
Now that they have acquired the genuine good manners of
their freedom, instead of the tricks they practised in slavery
they are irresistible. The trouble is that women refuse to vote
for women; they prefer to vote for an incompetent man where
they might put in a fine woman. The result is that the best
women keep out of Parliament and take to literature or the arts. ’

We fell into easy masculine gossip about the women we
both have known : Mary MacArthur, the politician who could
rouse maid and mill girl, Annie Besant, the atheist orator
turned mystic, Ellen Wilkinson, who, as Shaw put it, mi^ht
have sat, when young, for the Mona Lisa. &

T sent Annie Besant my Intelligent Women's Guide to
Socialism , and she was quite flattered because I regarded her
as an intelligent woman.’

We played about with the names of women who were in
the front line and we found it difficult to name many.

161

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'When women can get into the House of Lords in their own
right, like Lady Rhondda, then we might get great admin¬
istrators at last. The men to-day couldn’t even run a whelk
stall and the women will find scope there because the House
of Lords is a more democratic organization. In these days of
universal education we are all peers and every labourer boasts
of his descent from Adam. Autocrats find themselves elected
to the House of Commons, where, chained hand and foot by
their morality’ and their respectability they insist on each man
toeing the party line. A democrat should never vote on a

question otherwise than on its merits.’

Only an old man carrying a scythe passed us as we walked.
He greeted me as I knew him well. G.B.S. asked who he was.

I told him that he was the aristocrat of the place, the only one
who does job gardening, and he comes when he likes and goes
when he will, and if there is the least complaint he leases,
never to return. There are neglected lawns everywhere dying
to be scythed because they are beyond mowing. He: states .
price, you have to agree and he fixes a day but never turns up.

His eyes shone like a little boy's. He folded hhi arms; as. be
settled himself on our couch and at once proceeded to tell

0f 'DO you' tZZ I found a box of trinkets belonging to
Charlotte and I have never known that she possessed anyor
was in the least interested in these things. I was looking
chesl of drawers in her room and I came across this m a little
hidden drawer. I don't think I really knew Charlotte.

•Why not? All women like jeweis surely. ^ ; hcm

'I have, of course, no use for such things. I

away to be disposed of.

'Your wife liked pretty things.

162

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

had something to sell which I would like, a piece of pottery or
a jewel

'William Morris was like that. But I hope you were more
businesslike than he. He did not care a scrap what he paid for
a thing he liked as long as he could get it. He put the thing
under his arm and asked for the price afterwards.’

'Quite right. Why should one bargain over a work of art?’
I said.

He laughed and then told me this story:

'When I was in China, I was on the way to catch a boat
when I saw a chair I liked very much. It was a work of art.
"How much?” I asked. "Five pounds,” the Chinaman an¬
swered. "I can only give you five shillings,” I said. He looked
me up and down, sized up my capacity to pay and agreed to let
me have it for one pound. But as I moved away, he called me
back and let me have it for seven and six, saying that it was a
gift because I seemed to like it, and promised that it would
give me much happiness. I took the chair and then wondered
what I would do with it and decided to return it to him for
the money I paid him. "Give me seven and six for it,” I said.
He smiled and offered me half a crown and would not budge.
Ultimately he agreed to give five shillings but only as a kind¬
ness to me. I let him have the chair and the five shillings.’

'I know a man who carries about jewels in his waistcoat
pockets. Whenever he sees a jewel he likes, he buys it and
puts it in his waistcoat pocket and then lets his children play
with them as though they were marbles. The most precious
diamond may roll against a Roman ring, a bunch of keys and a
pencil. He was a Jewish merchant and when a customer turned
up, especially if he was an artist or writer, he would give the
jewel away for nothing. "Like to like” he would think, and
feel happy that it made another happy/

G.B.S. laughed. 'I suppose,’ he said, 'he is in the workhouse
by now/

'On the contrary. He has won an international reputation
and when people want anything beautiful they come to him.

163

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

He even considers that he is doing the world more good by
selling his beautiful things than political propagandists.’

'Well, I sell my plays and articles ... but I am better off
because they remain mine even after they are sold.’

I went in one afternoon and there was such silence in the
house that it seemed that the whole house was asleep and the
tiniest movement would wake it. Ultimately I discovered
G.B.S. in the drawing-room arranging most lovingly the busts
of himself. He did not notice my entry and I saw him put his
hand on the Rodin as though giving it his blessing and blow¬
ing away specks of dust. Then he went over to the Troubetskoy
and turned it to catch the light. I slipped out of the room and
waited in the dining-room, which is by the sitting-room. I had
ample time to compare the different aspects of Shaw as done
by a Belgian artist, De Smet, and a British artist, Augustus

John.

When he came in, he said, seeing my eyes on the De Smet:
'I know that this drawing of me must be correct because it is
so much like my father, a quiet spineless fellow, while John

makes me out the inebriated gamekeeper.’

We sat down by the blazing fire, burning up the wood

which he had cut.

'It is amazing,’ he said, 'to what expense and trouble, even
to the point of losing all one’s liberty, a gentleman will go to
have the freedom of an inconvenient house. All the wealthy
people I know have always dreamt of a log cabin to themselves.

-I know mistresses,’ I said, ’who did all the dirty work of
the house behind the backs of the servants in order to retain
their services, and I know men who are afraid to step into
their houses lest the servants complain of the mess they mig

1,1 G 8 B.S. boasted of his skill and diplomacy in outwitting the

witless. . • r Li ar i.

He took off his outdoor shoes and put on a P a,r 0

slippers which had been given to him as a Christma p
164

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

He put his feet on a low stool before the fire and sighed
wearily. I could see how well De Smet had portrayed him. De
Smet, like his fellow impressionists, did not work according
to a formula but preferred to give a sincere rendering of the
subject. It is the general custom of G.B.S. to get his own
rendering of himself if at all possible, and to do this, while
the artist is painting him, he talks about himself, the par¬
ticular aspects he wants emphasized, and is most unhappy if
the artist is not amenable to his authority.

'I shall never sit for another portrait because I have been
done by the two greatest artists in the last forty years, Rodin
and John. Besides there is no more room here for further
portraits of myself. I have been called the finest model in the
world, therefore artists should pay me for the sitting.’

'Are there still people who want to paint you?’ I asked.

He was really hurt. 'I get any number of requests for sit¬
tings. If artists had their way, I would be sitting for the rest
of my life. There are far too many portraits of me already. I
have to reply that I have already been done by Rodin and
Augustus John and I cannot be done by anybody else. Think
of Pope Julius II sitting to anybody else after being done by
Raphael and Michelangelo!’

I was worried by the look of fatigue on his face. I switched
on the wireless knowing how music healed him, especially the
old favourites, each of which could bring up a whole history
of association. He saw Grieg conduct this . . . and Wagner
conduct that, he was the first to recognize the merit of that
fifty years ago, he remembers his mother and Lee singing this
together eighty years back ... and he joins in, forgetting his
weariness. But this time he wanted to talk.

'I enjoy talking with you,’ he admitted. 'Don’t think that
you must get out of it by switching on the wireless. If I want it
I’ll not hesitate to tell you so. When I was young I suffered
fearful headaches, but at seventy they went just like that,’ and
he flicked his finger and thumb into the air. 'Now I am look¬
ing forward to see what ninety will do. My diet is very mono-

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

tonous. It can't be helped I suppose. If there was aWoolworth,
or a cinema, or a dance hall, I might have had a wider choice,
but then, I would not have been here. I am an old man and
that is all there is to it. Who wants to spend their days with an
old man! There are some things, however, gained in old age
which compensate for the loss of physical powers and which
the young will never understand and cannot understand.’

But his interest in outside affairs was unflagging. In spite of
appearances to the contrary he declared that the stage was now
set for German defeat. I listened to his analysis with the great¬

est interest.

'They always make out that Stalin is a grim, dull kind of
tyrant. I assure you we’ll soon know him for what he is, a
statesman of unique experience, and what is most important,
I found him to have a sense of humour. Now Hitler has no
sense of humour. I was pleasantly surprised to find when I
met Stalin that he has a wonderful smile, somewhat like mine.
We understood one another though we could not converse
directly together. You see, being myself the most foreign o
all foreigners, an Irishman, I understand him. Stahn also can
listen, and made me feel that even what I was saying was
important. I never met a man who could talk so well and ye
was in less of a hurry to talk than Stalin. With Hitler, th
slightest contradiction threw him into a fury of impatience
that is why he is surrounded by brutes and degenerates. In
fact. Hitler is the stage Bolshevik and Stalin, if we but knew
it, the English gentleman. The quicker we get bo
the Russian way of thinking, the better it will be for * ^ ^
Do you realize that Labour had no foreign policy an II ®
along in 1913 and urged the declaration of ***££*
years afterwards when it was too late, and no expert be eve^
[ n it Even the Webbs ignored foreign diplomacy unt

Russian Revolution turned their eyes abroad. ,

■You must have enjoyed your meeting with> Stalm.^I said^

'I would have enjoyed his company even if ,

together; like Stalin my bane has always been modesty.

166

Chapter 18

THF. HOUSING PROBLEM WAS FRIGHTFUL. IN THE IVIED WALL

on the north side of the side of the house, as many as twelve
wrens lived in a single nest left by a housemartin. As the
snows had come in early, the feeding problem had become
equally difficult, and no sooner did we put out food for them,
it all disappeared almost at once. We found that the minute
wrens drove off, through sheer impudence, all the other small
birds and we had to devise methods of feeding the latter, who
ultimately became so tame that they came right into our porch
for food, much to our anxiety, because we felt our cat would
let us down. We hung up baskets, tin lids upside down and
trays in trees and bushes and every variety of bird flocked to
our garden.

'I am cursed with a strange temperament. I soon give up
anything I cannot do easily, and when I do discover that I can
do a thing easily I am disabled by the thought that everyone
knows as much as I do and can do it rather better.’ G.B.S. had
come in spite of the weather. He had no overcoat on, but was
wearing a Harris tweed suit and the only part of him dressed
as for a wintry day were his feet. These were in sheepskin
boots in which he shuffled along.

’The cold never worries me. I am better off in cold weather
and I can’t stand very hot weather,’ he continued as he spread
out his hands to an electric fire. We always lit this, even on
summer days, when he came in, though we might already have
had a wood fire burning.

'I have been reading my new book and I am thoroughly
depressed.’

'All creative artists are depressed when they contemplate
their work,’ I suggested.

167

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'Because of the mixture of the permanently bad and the
transiently good, I suppose. There is so much padding one
has to put into a book.’

I demurred. The compound surely, not the mixture. An
entirely new substance has been formed, having entirely new
properties, which we must call, for the want of a better
name, Shaw. Your book is good fun, and what I enjoyed most
was that it upheld government by dissent.’

'But I attack democracy,’ he reminded me.

'Exactly,’ I agreed, 'and democracy will survive attack. You
would never have attacked it if you did not think it invin¬
cible?’

'William Morris was converted to Socialism after reading
Mill’s attack on it.’

'Wasn't Mill always right, having no sense of humour? I
can quite see Morris enjoying himself contradicting the omni¬
scient. Everybody knows that you are always prepared to take
up a line of argument for the sake of being in the wrong. The
thing that I note in your new book is that you are still finding
it fun to contradict everybody, even after you have converted
us all to Socialism.’

'I must get rid of the notion that Tout le moncle has only to
vote for Socialism and Socialism at once comes into being
instead of the chaos of Capitalism, we institute liberty, fratern¬
ity and equality, and there is nothing left but to live happilyever
afterwards. What really happens is that Capitalism collapses
and the Socialists have to take over and build on ruins and so
the ultimate edifice is not what they expected. Instead of frat¬
ernity, liberty and equality it is restriction, austerity and dictat¬
orship, however disguised. Stalin has revealed to us what
reserves there are of organizing and administrative ability in
the masses, and these are the people who will be able toeftec
the social transformation. It is sheer ability that we will ha\e
to fall back upon.’

’Morris would turn in his grave to hear this, I said.

'Morris fell back upon a Utopia. I have to face fac s a

168

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

are. The great point is that there must be no unemployment,
and poverty must never be taken for granted.’

The mere mention of William Morris was enough to
change the subject.

The weakness of the artists in the time of Morris was that

they were afraid of ugliness and they turned to a visionary
world where nothing was ugly and all people were strong and
good and happy. Works of art that go deeper than the surface
are always considered ugly. My work was considered inartistic
because I insisted on showing the unpleasant side of truth.
You must admit that artists have a great advantage over play¬
wrights. We can only represent God by a hole in the ceiling,
but the artist need only paint or model his best friend and call
him Christ and everybody will say: "What an original painter
or sculptor he is! ” In the medieval mystery, Cain was a funny
man, a coarse farmer type who talked to God just as he talked
to his labourers. Then they had no hesitation in representing
God on the stage, but in the Victorian times it was considered
sinful to do so; that was because the Victorians were never
sure of their belief even though they filled the churches on

fk nd ^ They L P , r ° babIy fiUed the churches on Sunday because
they did not believe. However, they permitted the Devil and

that gave me my opportunity. I took the trouble of reading the
gospels and I have drawn in my mind’s eye as close a picture
of Jesus as I could of myself. I have discovered to my great
relief, and to the horror of every Victorian believer, that Jesus
was an artist, in fact, He was a Bohemian in His manner of life.
He supported my contention, there is only one way of teach¬
ing the people, and that is through art. That is why He spoke
in parables^ As a artists have been, He was quite misunder¬
stood by His followers. If I were ever allowed to portray
Jesus on the stage as Da Vinci has done on canvas, I would

a$ / convivial man who indulged in neither pity nor
huimhty and quite willing to overthrow conventions when
^ey were in the way. I see no sign that Jesus glorified martyr-

169

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'I understand Da Vinci,’ I said to G.B.S. when he paused,
'left the Christ head to the very last, in His Last Supper, be¬
cause he never felt equal to doing it and he almost left the
painting unfinished, with the mere triangle to represent the
Christ. He was teased by his fellow-scholars that a person
occupied with aeroplanes, drains and wheelbarrows, could

never understand the soul of Christ.

'If he were painting now he would have used me. When I

went to the festival at Oberammergau they suggested that I
might represent Jesus.’

'You would not have been just a hole in the ceiling! This

made him laugh.

'But a great hole in their pockets,’ he answered. I am the
first philosopher to make truth pay, and like Jesus I went
among the sinners by getting my articles printed in the Tory
and Hearst Press. I found more freedom of expression in

those papers than in the Labour Press.

'You mean you brought more readers to the Tory Press-
'The Tories like hearing themselves called thieves and liars
in the same way as churchmen like hearing themselves called
miserable sinners. I soon discovered that the more blunt I be¬
came, the sharper the rise in circulation.’

The amazing thing is that your writing did not deteriorate

in the least by translation into the Tory Press. Everything

suffers by translation.’ _ T ^

•Except a bishop,' was his speedy retort, and I am some¬
thing of a bishop because I need the support of a crook.

We had got on to his favourite subject of money aga ,
it was low finance this time and not high finance. I sat :

'You mentioned before that the art* has an advantage over
the writer, but he also is at a disadvantage. Hts work ts of
bought while he is unknown at a tidtculously low figure,
stored away in cellars while his reputation ts be.ng forced up.

That has been done with many.’ ,

■Only the worst painters are put in the best ce ” ar c ‘“ s n d .
He liked being frivolous about art at t.mes. He contmued

170

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'I am not a collector. I never buy paintings. You see I am not
certain whether Picasso is the name of the latest car or a horse.
Now in the days of Cimabue they created Gods, not abstrac¬
tions without significance. Cimabue’s colossal Virgin is not a
mistress but is frankly a goddess. Nature abhors a vacuum and
gives us as many gods as we can cope with. Cbacun a son
gout!

'This petrol shortage suits me down to the ground,’ G.B.S.
said, 'it keeps off people. I don’t want people, they waste one’s
time, they give more work to the servants, and with food
rationing at its minimum I am not in a position to feed any¬
body. Besides what is there here to entertain anybody? Why
should they want to come? Here, at last, I can escape from the
false good fellowship of the town.’

I said: 'I went up to London and slipped out of the com¬
plete blackout there, where the lights of torches held were like
rats’ eyes in a pit and entered a theatre to see a play of yours,
Heartbreak House , and there I heard laughter. Everybody
thoroughly enjoyed it. All your quips and all your onslaughts
went down like fish down a pelican’s mouth. They laughed
the whole way through.’

'Good, then they had value for their money. I meant Heart¬
break House as an extremely serious warning to humanity but
it is only the very great who can afford to be solemn
Beethoven in his Ninth, Ibsen in his Peer Gynt, Wagner in his
Parsifal. The fact that I make people laugh doesn’t mean that
I do not take life seriously. Now when people think of my
plays all they remember is their own laughter and then it

comes to them as a shock that there were any ideas in my
plays.

[So y° u found it necessary to write long prefaces?’

'Nonsense. I am in the classic tradition. The combination
of preface pamphlet and play is the classic tradition in English
literature, but nobody has given such good measure as I My
plays do not need prefaces, but the people who buy my books

171

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

need variety and quantity to last them at least a year. I want
people to be amused and sufficiently discontented to feel there
is something to live for. Those who like political essays and
don’t like plays can skip the prefaces. Those who care for
neither can still buy me as a classic, that is, spend more on me
than the merely intelligent person by insisting on a luxury edi¬
tion. The road to ignorance is paved with good editions. Only
the illiterate can afford to buy good books now. The silly
people who are ignorant of the literary tradition and who read
neither my books nor anybody else s imagine that the pre¬
faces which they never read, explain the plays which they
never see.’

I made a point of bringing home and showing him the cata¬
logues of all those exhibitions 1 visited. He was interested and
studied these carefully but would not submit to the contem¬

porary movements.

'One fashion follows another before even the previous
movement has started moving. Nothing is worked out to
maturity,’ he complained. 'The dealers demand of the arhst
to repeat himself ad nauseam. When I read my work I find it
as fresh as when I first wrote it, in fact it has improved with
time. But with contemporary paintings they become meaning¬
less as soon as you get to know them. All the same, as a con¬
cession to modern art I did present a Roger Fry to Virginia
Woolf and one of the last letters she ever wrote was to thank
me for the painting and to say that it appears more beautiful

because of the person who gave it.’ ^ mnnrirv

'I regard Virginia Woolf as the greatest of contemporaq

^Anybody can write a novel. When . novelist cannot padl a
story she puts in a few hundred pages of psychology. R.ckett
used to say that writing was very easy because everyo M
how to talk and write letters and so there ,s no techn que
learn, but in painting you have to master a newteAmque, a ^
every weakness is immediately exposed to the ey .
the arts are exhausted. I thought when I arrived m London

172

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

that it was the centre of literature and art but I got nothing
for nothing and very little for a halfpenny. I was abused and
vilified. I soon realized that a mighty harvest had left the
soil sterile. From the habit gained in my commercial work,
like Trollope I worked daily at my writing without waiting
for inspiration. By sheer persistence, repetition and self projec¬
tion I managed to get myself not only read and seen but also
canonized. Now the time has come for me to go: an eclipse of
reputation always becomes visible at Greenwich soon after its
possessor's canonization. I will probably live to hear myself
called vapid and old-fashioned as the Restoration thought of
Shakespeare and the Victorians of Mozart. You must expect a
depression to settle over Ayot Saint Lawrence in the not too
distant future and stay for a considerable time.’

While he was talking I noticed that there was a huge hole
in his thick woollen stocking. It was the first sign of personal
neglect I had seen.

173

Chapter 19

I RECEIVED A LETTER INCLUDING A STORY ABOUT SHAW. IT

was as follows : G.B.S. was not feeling well so he decided to
stay in bed and to send for a doctor. This was a typical Harley
Street doctor, who came up fat and puffing from his long
ascent to the top floor of Whitehall Court, the lift being out
of order. G.B.S. asked him to sit down in the most comfortable
chair and immediately sprang out of bed to give the doctor a
tablet for his fatigue saying: 'This will help you immediately!
But the main cause of your trouble is over-feeding. Stop
having butcher’s meat and take to vegetables and fruit. I am
twice as old as you and a hundred times as agile. Did you
notice how easily I sprang out of bed?’ The doctor admitted
noticing his agility. Then Shaw asked the doctor whether he
could dance. No, the doctor could not. Then Shaw switched
on dance music and began to dance. Then he gave the doctor
this advice: 'Dance every day for at least a quarter of an hour,
then you will become as slim and agile as myself. You doctors
are too ready to give advice which does not suit the patient.
You tell a postman to walk more when he spends his energy
by walking and you will tell me to stop writing when it is by
writing that I keep so well. If I don’t write every morning
fall to pieces. And now that I have given you this expert
advice I want you to pay me the usual five shillings.’ (

The doctor smiled. 'You must give me two guineas, ne

said.

'Oh, why should I? asked Shaw.

'Because I have been successful in curing you. By pretend¬
ing to be ill myself you forgot your own troubles, you have

danced and called yourself agile.

174

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Shaw laughed because he had been beaten at his own game.

The unbolting, the turning of keys and the sighing! It
might have been a castle in the Middle Ages with its draw¬
bridge and heavy gates. I was the only visitor at night. The
dark was a heavy wall which shut off the house from traveller
and intruder. But why the fear? Why the bolting and the
bars? All the years I have lived here I have never heard of
anything being stolen, nor of any assault.

He was sitting in his dining-room in his wing arm-chair
beside the wireless, which was full on, and as usually, a jar of
sweets and a load of press cuttings by his side.

I am glad you came,’ he said. I have been worrying. I
don't remember switching off the light in the shelter and there
is no black-out there.'

A symbolic moth was noisily buzzing round the lamp. We
both went across the moonlit garden held by the silence of the
evening. But there in the south it was obvious that London
was again having it. Death was taking advantage of the beau¬
tiful night. We found the shelter dark -and locked. He was
naturally a cautious man. Back to the house again, across the
wild grass of the lower lawn, a sky full of stars spread over¬
head so low that one could almost reach out to them. Suddenly
we heard a crash, the house shook and it seemed that a load of
bombs was upon us. Our sheer helplessness amused us. What
a relief it was to know that it was miles away.

'If that bomb had got me,’ G.B.S. said, 'it would have been
considered a natural death, as natural as death by illness or
starvation. If, however, I took my own life, there would be an
outcry which would send the war news into the shade, just
because it is not the accepted mode of departure. War, disease
and starvation have always been accepted until I came upon
the scene. It won’t be long when dying of illness will be rare
and starvation, disease and war will be considered most un¬
natural and declared crimes. All the same, all this talk of the
sacredness of human life sounds piffle to me. As soon as lives

175

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

become a burden to the community the State must be unsenti¬
mental and dispose of its lunatics, its criminals and its misfits.
The means, however, must be humane.’

The only lunatics in this village,’ I pointed out, 'are our¬
selves, and we are also dangerous criminals because we do not
frequent the local, and we are both obvious misfits. We are,
in short, mere artists and so unclassifiable.’

'1 don’t think I have ever been in a local,’ he said. 'A com¬
parison of the works of our carnivorous drunkard poets with
those of Shelley, the vegetarian, or of Doctor Johnson’s Dic¬
tionary with the teetotal Littre, is sufficient to show that the
secret of attaining the highest eminence either in poetry or in
dictionary compiling, and all fine literature lies between the
two, is not to be found in alcohol. All the same, I insist on
teaching people that they must reform society before they can
reform themselves.’

'I sometimes wonder, G.B.S., how much of your teaching,
years and years of it, has reached the merrymakers a few yards
away.’

'None, I hope,’ G.B.S. answered. 'That is why they keep
well away from me. It would be fatal to live in a village where
they thought me a great man. Much better that I am consi¬
dered rich. In a village a rich man is respected, a great man
suspected. I am sure I would have lost my sense of humour if
I took to drink. These things act in an opposite way with me
and so I would have lost my livelihood. My father never
laughed when he was drunk. On the occasion when he mis¬
took the garden of the Dalkey Cottage for the gate and made
a concertina of his hat by butting at it, the laughter which
could be heard did not come from the drunken father bu
from the sober son. I do not mind in the least making a fool
of myself, I am built that way. There is a professional reason
for not drinking alcohol, the work I have to do depends for it
quality on a very keen self-criticism. Anything which makes
me easily pleased with myself instantly reduces the qua lty
my work. Instead of following up and writing down about

176

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

two per cent, of the ideas that occur to me on any subject, I
put down twenty per cent if I go to work under the comfort¬
able and self-indulgent influence of a narcotic.’

'In most jobs, of course, people don’t use the whole of their
minds. The work is so automatic and uninteresting that they
long for the emotional side of their lives to be used up at the
local, the cinema and the theatre.’

'Well, they have me to talk about,’ G.B.S. said. ‘They
haven’t far to go for their heroes. My clothes, my meals, must
be a constant source of amusement. But now that I have a big
house, a Rolls-Royce, a piano and a maid to open the door,
they respect me sufficiently to hide their contempt.’

'I was invited once to give a poetry reading at a local,’ I
said.

He lifted an eyebrow as a dog cocks an ear.

'I found a very appreciative audience,’ I continued, ‘I read
Oscar Wilde’s Ballad of Reading Gaol.’

'And how did they swallow the synthetic stuff?’ he asked.

They stopped swallowing while they listened,’ I answered.

I meant the poetry. Irishmen excel in laughing and crying,
that is why they talk so much. When you hear an Irishman
crying, then you know that he is laughing at you; and when
lie is laughing, he is hiding his tears. Oscar and I were born
the same time. He died crying, I’ll probably die laughing.’

I thought how would G.B.S. have taken years in prison as

Oscar Wilde and many of his fellow-Socialists and suffra¬
gettes ?

And all the woe that moved him to
That he gave that bitter cry.

And the wild regrets , and the bloody sweats
None knew so well as I. *

For he who lives more lives than one
More deaths than one must die.

He continued:
ridicule which I

'I have been very fortunate. The gift of
have inherited has proved to be my most

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

precious possession. Being naturally of a serious disposition I
soon saw the world for what it was and was not in the least
deceived by the peace and prosperity of Victorian days. The
peace was the peace of a lunatic living in the world of fantasy
and the prosperity was the prosperity of the vulture. I laughed
Victorianism out of existence. When I was young George
Eliot was thought to be the greatest writer of the day. I had to
go to a young Fabian meeting, held in the Hampstead library',
and as I came twenty minutes too early I took down a novel by
George Eliot and shall never forget how disappointed I was.
I could do that kind of writing I thought. Until then I had
never thought of writing for a living but what was I to do?
I had discovered that I could never be a Michelangelo and I
was without means, so I wrote a novel and it read like a bad
translation. When, after trying five novels, I discovered that I
would never become a George Meredith, I resigned myself to
playwriting. I could make people talk but could not think of
any plots so I decided that plots were not necessary to my kind
of drama. I persuaded the critics, the gallery and later on the
stalls, that I was the last word in dramatic construction. In
Misalliance, for example, the action is a discussion lasting
three short hours. The curtains only come down for the sake
of the bars. And yet I have convinced everybody that it is a
very amusing play. How did I contrive to get so many people
together where I wanted them, too? A man falls in the garden
from an aeroplane, a charming but simple expedient that
neither Sophocles nor Shakespeare had ever thought ot.
never hesitated to introduce the most outrageous coincidences,
knowing that they would not be noticed^You can get away
with anything nowadays except the truth. Dare to tell the t
and you are at once accused of being an outrageous bar. IE
however, I were not a gloriously successful person m England
they would have dismissed me as an Irishman and in Americ

as a Socialist.’

'It is all a matter of income. In the eyes of the world

178

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Barnato was five million times as great and good a man as
William Blake and Henry Ford on a far higher plane of
respect than William Morris. They all praise me now because
praise saves them the trouble of thinking and gives them the
credit of profound opinions. Money represents health,
strength, honour, generosity, beauty as undeniably as the want
of it represents illness, weakness, disgrace, meanness and ugli¬
ness. Not the least of its virtues is that it destroys base people
as certainly as it fortifies and dignifies noble people.’

'And yet,’ I said, 'it is the people without money who stood
by you. The people in the market place and in the street
corners, the galleries were full but the stalls were empty!’

Think of me now in my old age, without money, where
would I be? To lead the simple life that I need for my exist¬
ence I must have wealth. I would rather die like Samuel
Butler calling for a cheque book and asking if the drains of
the new freehold he was purchasing were all right than like
Mozart and Moliere and Beethoven. I would rather die the
gentleman that Shakespeare ended up with. To make myself
secure for the next ten years, I am arranging an annuity for
myself and after that I'll probably have to start all over again.
William Morris died weeping for the poor, I’ll die denounc¬
ing poverty. Lee knew the secret of success; when he left
Ireland he took a house in Park Lane, then the most exclusive
and expensive thoroughfare in the West End, where rich peers
and millionaires lived. There he could charge anything he
hked and all he had to promise was to make them sing like
Caruso, Chaliapin, Tetrazzini and Patti in one. Well if he
could do it to my mother in Ireland and make her his chief
disciple he could do it to peeresses and peers. That is how I
met such people for the first time when I ultimately followed
my mother to England. Unfortunately there are fashions in
these things as there are in clothes. A new fashion drove Lee out
of the ring and I had to draw up a circular for him to show
that he could cure clergymen’s sore throat. That was my first
attempt at a preface. Now if Lee and I had put our heads

179

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

together we might have thought out a pill and we would have
become millionaires without the effort of creative work. Lee
was still in Park Lane when he dropped dead in the act of
undressing himself. He died without a penny and he died as
he had lived without a doctor. I took to heart the lesson in the
value of London fashionable life and to this day look to the
provincial and the amateur stage for my chief source of
income. You will notice that there are no elaborate sets in my
plays for I always bear in mind the Muddleditch Repertory
Company that can only afford one set, a few players and a

small crowd only is attracted.’

'I take it,’ I suggested, 'that you are avoiding elaborate sets
and keeping expenses down to the minimum in the film you
are now doing, in Caesar and CleopatraV

'You must understand that people who understand nothing
about art and that is the very vast majority, judge a thing by
its cost and the cost of the film will determine its popularity.
You see there is no sex appeal in my film and we have to make
up for it by ton loads of sand and appealing sphinxes and
great crowds. The Muddleditch Repertory could never afford
such things. If I were starting my dramatic career again. I
would run to every extravagance in production and stop at
nothing because I know the films can go to any length, any¬
where and everywhere.’

When we do talk in the train, strange subjects crop up^

Huddled together in the dim light, fatigued, self-centred and
cautious, conversation like hospitality falls into the tradition
of a lost art. A few connoisseurs continue and the others listen
suspiciously behind their papers. I was telling my neighbou
almost in a whisper that when I left my home to catch tos
early train the lane was so dark that 1 did not even kno
which way I was going and suddenly I tumbled over a huge
warm, moist mass. I heard deep sighing and my hand
clutched a horn. The cow was a gentle lady and moved ou of
my way, but this little incident had made me lose all d,rechon,

180

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

for I thought that I could not be on the lane and must be
careering across a field. I went on, however, and soon found
my instincts had led me after all in the right direction. He was
a civil servant and he countered my story with the following :
Tm in the civil service and my office is flooded with rats.
Why? Because all the girls they are now employing bring
their lunch to the office and they not only leave their crumbs
about but very often their sandwiches, too. The rats come
from all over, miles around, through the sewers, up the lava-
tor)' pans and we men have to hunt them and get rid of them.
I expect rats were made for some purpose or other ... but I
do not really think there is any purpose in life. How can I
when some of the best minds of the world are being slaugh¬
tered?’ The dim lights of the carriage went out and the train
came to a standstill. We might have been ourselves rats in a
hole. Someone was saying: 'We got stuck like this for a
couple of hours the other day. Hope it won’t be so to-day.'

But the train did move before long and when we neared
our London, the sunrise lay over it like a blessing and it
seemed impossible to think that people were still lying asleep
in shelters, or were going home after a night’s firewatching or
were lying under rubble.

After a busy day in London, back at Ayot, it seemed impos¬
sible to think that I was in the same world, that it was the
same world. What was this madness called life which could
give us, in a single day, sordidness and splendour, horror and
happiness? What was it in life that gave us this knowledge of
immortality and yet made living so dreary and meaningless?

I found Shaw sitting at my place when I returned. The rat
hunt by the civil sen-ants amused him. He laughed, and of
course he had a dictum ready to hand: 'The rats came as a
warning to the civil sen-ice in the same way as pain comes to a
human being when he needs an overhaul. Sir Almroth Wright
once remarked that sanitation was aesthetic and I saw at once
hat he had hit upon a great truth. The artist must join with
the politician and the scientist to eradicate filth and squalor.

181

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

otherwise the rats will overrun the human race and the Life
Force will have to bring into being a new creature with
aesthetic sensibilities, something better than Man.’

'If the Life Force treats the rat, as you say, as a discarded
experiment, how is it that it can still be a menace to the more
successful experiment, Man? If the Life Force is an artist,
then it should scrap completely the inferior work,’ I argued.

'I don’t know. We can only see a little way ahead, pro¬
bably even the superman won’t know why the discarded ele¬
ments survive. I myself am against any cruelty to the less
developed creature because cruelty in itself degrades man. But
when they are a danger to man, they must be got rid of, other¬
wise they will get rid of us. I myself, am not responsible for
the coming of life, we must face up to facts and within our
limited compass try to solve our difficulties.’

'I agree, but who on earth can face up to facts as they are;
one daren’t think of the slaughter, the misery and the outcome
of it all. Facing up to facts has led to sanitation, it is true, but
it has also led to the bomber. If it were not for the consolation
and the healing effect of the arts, we would not have survived.
It shows the regenerative effect of the Life Force that the arts
survive even in the midst of the vilest war. We were sitting in
a railway refreshment bar, one day at dawn, having like all the
people there, travelled through the night, sipping stewed tea,
the only thing we could get, and a more depressing scene one
could not imagine, when suddenly someone struck up a tune
on a mandoline and heads were raised, smiles appeared every¬
where and we joined in. There was an immediate sense ot

reC, I knew a doctor,’ Shaw said, 'who wanted children but they
died soon after birth. As a last hope he took the last baby ha
was born alive, into the garden and there placed .tmaW
bright red tent. The baby survived, just like that. Now it
grown-up man with children of his own no doubt And a
due to a spot of colour. I have always urged that the aesthcti
element in life is a fact which has been too long ignored.

182

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'Didn’t Darwin complain that his scientific concentration
meant the loss of literary appreciation. In his youth he had
loved Shakespeare but in later life he could only pass his
leisure time in the reading of light novels... with happy end¬
ings. He said that the mind dwelling on the tangible and
definite lost its sense of the mystery and fascination which
hung about the meaning of life.’

'In spite of Chesterton's prophecy years ago that invention
would cease and the hansom cab would still be in existence a
hundred years hence, science has turned the romantic hansom
into a ponderous museum piece and every child looks to the
heavens to name the latest plane. Mankind stands bewitched
by the helpless rush of science and only art will waken it to
reality,’ G.B.S. answered.

You would have the poets trained in the sciences instead of
in the classics and the scientists trained in one of the arts?’

'If the stuff taught were not hundreds of years behind the
times-’

Keeping fit was a very serious business with G.B.S. There
were all kinds of exercises he performed: this was for the
spine, that for the eyes and the back of the neck must not be
neglected. He must never forget to stretch himself to the
utmost and to sit bolt upright, movement after meals, the
splashing of the eyes with cold water, and especially appear¬
ance : the training by gentle combing of beard, moustache,
eyebrows, hair. Nothing was left to chance. He must rest after
lunch in a special position, relaxed completely, he must walk
m the open and not give way to weakening legs, he must write

letters and change his clothes into his black suit for the
evening.

I mentioned a friend’s way of keeping fit. Every morning
he stood on his head while a waiting robin perched on his toes
expecting to find a crumb there. Shaw was not going to be

writing' ^ ^ ‘‘ S h ° W m ° St peopIe think 1 do m Y

183

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

You should follow up,’ I said, 'your Sanity of Art with
I he Sanity of Living. What advice would you give?’

'Never to take advice. To do everything they were told not
to do, to break away from the tyranny of the past and to enjoy
being old.’ He was beginning to take off his old gardening
gloves and his miner’s eye-shield. His wood was neatly piled
up and now he was ready for a walk. I noticed that the tree
overhead was an old elm and I did not like it. I suggested that
his sawing should be done elsewhere and as far from the elm
as possible.

'I like to be well away from the house,’ he said, and on my
own.’ He would not give way. He had been there for years
and had rooted in to that corner.

'When you are on the land you soon grow into it,’ he said.
'You can’t transplant an old tree.’

But I would leave nothing to the treachery of an elm. I
knew them. I shifted the paraphernalia to a far part of the
garden where it was open to the sun and far more suitable. Be¬
sides it was within reach of the house.

Next day, when I came in he asked me how I liked the new
place where he did his sawing! Of course I thought the spot
was admirable. He looked up at the elm tree and told me that
the tree should have been cut long ago, but it was impossible
to get anybody nowadays to come to this out-of-the-way place.

'I believe in being ruthless with trees,’ he said. We walke
round the orchard and I suggested that we both pitch into the
trees, let in light and air and give them a chance to grow. He
was as enthusiastic as a child with a new toy. He at once
started planning the time, the tools and discovered that 1
needed new gloves and new secateurs. But he was sure th
these were unobtainable. Whenever he wanted anything he
Sd me! he was told it was unobtainable. 'C.v.hzat.on 1 as
readied the point when you can never get anything you ne

^However things were obtained and , taught him the
,rt of pnilg. He lud certainly not lost the des.re to learn.

1 S4

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

As lie had said, he enjoyed being ruthless, branch after branch
came down and the trees were more naked than I had wanted
them to be. When I could not come he went on himself and I
felt that die trees must have trembled at his approach.

One day I found him contemplating a great branch in the
damp dell where he once sawed his wood. He said :

I was thinking there is nothing that looks more dead than a
fallen branch, except an outworn theory like natural selection
and survival of the fittest. If I had been foolish enough to stay
there, and he pointed to the old base, 'I would have been
underneath that heavy branch. Not that it would have mat¬
tered, who wants to go on living in my state?’

The sight of the branch shook him and he wanted to be out
of his garden.

'Would you mind if we walked towards the post office? I
have two letters I want posted and they must go to-day. One is
a letter to The Times. A very solemn letter. The path of glory
leads but to the grave.’

He chose his cap and stick very carefully, put on his em¬
broidered gloves, tlirusting aside some tattered ones which he
usually used. He lifted himself to his full height and was
ready to go out. A girl of about seven appeared in the lane
and looked up at him with a 'Hullo, Mr. Shaw! ’ but he passed
on. His eyes were at that moment on the clouds. Again she re¬
peated a little louder still, 'Hullo!’ As he did not answer the
child’s face puckered up and she ran away. He did not refer to
the child. There was not a soul visible in the village, he threw
his letters into the box and wanted to stroll on.

I have not been to the lane down there for years. Is that
sycamore still there? We are contemporaries you know.’ The
sycamore was not very far away and there were many other
sycamores standing by, forming almost a little spinney. He
spoke with authority. They do neglect their trees down here.
They will be a danger one of these days.'

I told him of a branch that fell only recently and just
missed the road sweeper. 'Who is responsible, sir, for falling

185

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

trees?’ he asked me. 'It’s called an act of God/ I informed
him, 'Act of God, act of God, then I must talk to the Vicar
about it! I’ve never done any harm to a soul.’ He put it down
to the rigid upbringing, glad that his father had beaten him
severely when a boy. 'There was a God in those days, but that
does not seem to mean anything nowadays.’

’I once said,’ this official told me, 'to a Chinaman that they
did not believe in God because I used to think in those days
that only we white people believed and what he answered has
made me think. The Chinaman said to me, he said, "Why,
don’t things also grow in China?” And so they do, sir, don t
they? They do. So there must be a God in China.’

G.B.S. was not interested. At the moment he was walking
round the sycamore to see how much greater its circumference
had grown. . . .

He turned away happily swinging his stick.

’Shakespeare,’ I said, 'had a marvellous knowledge of
flowers. There is a special part of Waterlow Park devoted to
flowers mentioned in his plays and it takes up a very consider¬
able space.’ .

'Oh, is there? Mine wouldn’t take up an inch. I m not

knowledgeable in that way even though I may be called a
country gentleman. In Ireland a man is considered ripe or
mature, when he has a good knowledge of beasts. I would be
considered very deficient in that respect. I can talk mtcl 1 -
oently to a horse but have always failed to talk to a cow.

° We were back at his gate and both of us admired the copper

beech beside the dark cedar at the entrance.

186

From

Bernard Shaw

Phono & Wl/c:
CODICOTE 218.

1

AYOT SAINT LAWRENCE.
WELWYN,

HERTS.

If * 0^4

a/

<r

V'Vrf ,

™ ow r.^

r ^

. *-•* ~h»

J Ur *j mi (fefj, j, „

Jr/JbaXj V*- n~wL»5»M- &cX '^ (^vC^CO

^A4,'>n^n4, J 'i&.tuP-X T^V 'LuIt^T.

/2l.'fOcMi &ul <J'fufccT

PLATE I

LETTER TO S. WINSTEN FROM G.B.S.

PLATE 11 HIS SHORTHAND, TO BE TRANSCRIBED BY HIS SECRETARY-

plate m

LEE SURROUNDED BY HIS DISCIPLES

PLATE V

THE SLIT WHICH HE HAS WORN
FOR OVER FORTY YEARS

OFF TO WORK
VILLAGE SCENE

PLATE VI
PLATE VII

plate VIII

r an AUTUMN WAL*

r0m ° P a,ntin & ** oils by dare XThuten
OF HIS WIFF R V C * D T-/-\ ninr

PLATE IX THE PORTRAIT

PLATE XI WITH GABRIEL PASCAL AND

H //IA Gl'A K 1 >s Uls H VI AND GUA h.S

PL All Ml

PLATE XIII

THE AUTHOR AND G.B.S

N IN F.TV

PLATE XIV

Till MIKKOK

PI.ATI W!

PLATF. XVII ‘SAINT JOAN’ IN BERNARD SHAWLS GARDEN

s.mptnrt ,n bronze hr Clar« WmsUn'i

PI-ATE \I\

AT THE WIN STEMS

Chapter 20

THREE MILES FROM MY HOME I WAS GREETED BY A SIGHT

rare in this part of the world. An Indian approached me and
asked me the way to Ayot Saint Lawrence. There were, of
course, no signposts to help him and none of the people
seemed to know how to direct him. Who was to know
whether he was not a spy and would cause bombs to shatter
the peace of this part of Hertfordshire. Fougasse had done his
work well. Boys cycled past and had never heard of the place.
And most likely they had not heard of Ayot Saint Lawrence.
For why should one village know about the other? I was go¬
ing home and the Indian asked most courteously as Easterns
do, whether he could accompany me. He said something
which enchanted me: 'Perhaps I will disturb your contempla¬
tion?’

I learnt that he was on a special mission to the Sage of
Ayot. Had I ever met him, because it was well known that he
was unapproachable?

He said: 'I am going to ask Mr. Shaw to intercede for
peace.’ He explained his presence here politely. 'I am a Budd¬
hist and he is a Christian and both religions have the same
creed of non-violence.’ I must have shown that I was surprised
he should call Mr. Shaw a Christian. 'Only a Christian could
have written Androcles and the Lion, also Saint Joan ' Out of
his pocket came proof that he had read these works, an Indian
translation of Saint Joan was underlined and with many com¬
mentaries in the margin.

'I cannot understand,’ he continued, 'that such an intelli¬
gent people as yours, with such a wonderful religion of love

and goodness, can permit the world to fall into chaos and
nothingness.’

G

187

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

I suggested that most people here thought that if evil were
not resisted it would only invite aggression and conquest.

'How can a civilized person of the twentieth century talk
like that? I am shocked. The man who enjoys marching to kill
other men has received the brain by mistake. The spinal cord
would be sufficient for his purpose. I would rather be smitten
to shreds! * But he immediately apologized for his outburst.
He said :

'In England you do not express your feelings. You are so
much absorbed in doing things that you cannot get far away
enough into your own soul to see what is going to pass.’

We walked on silently and I noticed how very tired and sad
he looked. I tried to assure him that the village he was going
to was a homely and unspoilt place. He stopped, looked in my
face and placed his hand on my shoulder reassuringly.

'What a beautiful world, what radiance, what joy! I am a
man of great wealth but who cannot feel at home in a world
of suffering and dumbness. I want to ask Mr. Shaw what he
thinks of life? Why it has come to this pass? He must be a
wise man, for his words have gone across the world and he is
very old. You are a wise people, let me tell you why because
I have no doubt that you don’t know it. After the last war, you
put up a monument to a kind woman with the inscription:
Patriotism is not enough. Even in the heat of victory you knew
it was not enough. What will you put up after this war? Pos¬
sessions are not enough, Beauty is not enough, Happiness

not enough, Love is not enough. ...

■Who cares? Inscriptions are of no account! I interrupted.

but he ignored my remark.

■We in the East believe in venerable old men tha >
understand that which we are mystified with, the things

“ISO we walked in silence. We were at the f<»t ofAe hi.!
at the top of which stood Shaw’s house. He looked up eage y,
hoping to see, what was it he wanted to see ? An Ind antmp
or a minute straw shelter open to the world, such as the hoi,

188

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

men are wont to live in? He said: 'You are silent, you think
me strange.’ I assured him that I did not think him strange but
that I hoped he would not be disappointed in his visit.

’I could not be disappointed. See, I come to a strange place
and meet a stranger who immediately takes me to the very
place, who listens to my talk so courteously. No, I can see I am
right and I shall get Mr. Shaw to join with our Mahatma to
intercede with the evil forces, the Hitlers, to stop this slaughter.’
I was on the point of leaving him as we reached Shaw’s
Corner, but to save him from officious handling, I conducted
him personally. Unfortunately the van of the local butcher
drew up and a large plate of meat was carried in and as if
arranged to shock this Indian, Mr. Shaw’s secretary in herlong
fur coat, came out. I saw the look of astonishment and then of
sorrow in his face. He said nothing, however, but followed me
round the house and across to his hut. G.B.S. was sitting
with his account book in front of him. I tapped him to
make him aware of our presence. He greeted the Indian
warmly.

'How I admire your simplicity. This little hut reminds me
of the places where our men of wisdom and holiness retire,’
the Indian said.

‘You know that I am the Mahatma of the West, so I have
much in common with Gandhi. When I met him in England
I had a very nice chat with him. He was very considerate be¬
cause at the end of the talk he asked me how I was going
back. I told him that I was going to pick up a taxi outside. He
wouldn t hear of it and insisted on arranging for my transport
himself. It was a fine car with a smart-looking chauffeur, well-
groomed and very neatly dressed. When I got to my door I
wondered what to give this smart man, I felt he deserved
something more than the sixpence you tip the usual taxi-
driver, and so I decided to give him five shillings. To my sur¬
prise he wouldn’t take it. I thought he considered it too little
but I wasn’t going to spoil him. The next day he came and sent
in his card. I thought he had come for the tip but he told me

189

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

when he came in that he had called to say how he had enjoyed
driving me and that he was a millionaire prince. Of course, we
had a very agreeable conversation about cars, for anything
mechanical always interests me.’ Just then the dinner whistle
went, and Shaw looked up:

'Oh, dear, this is calling me to dinner and I haven’t even
changed for dinner. This is shocking! Ah, well,’ and he held
out his hand to say good-bye. The Indian was taken aback, but
quickly said: 'May I make a little request?’

'I won’t sign autographs! ’ G.B.S. answered petulantly. He
walked at my side up to the house with the Indian on the other
side of me. I explained the reason for this visit.

He laughed aloud.

'Lansbury who was so successful in converting the Serpen¬
tine in Hyde Park into a lido thought he could equally con¬
vert a serpent into a lamb, in fact he told me personally that
he had succeeded with Hitler. They all thought they had
succeeded with him. You see he kept them standing while he
shouted at them at the top of his voice and when he calmed
down through sheer exhaustion, they thought he was giving
way. They were taken in.’ He winked with mischief at this
and then consoled the other with the assurance that Hitler had
no earthly chance against Stalin. He went into the dining¬
room, where his Irish maid stood by the table ready to serve

the food.

On the way back the Indian said :

'I have failed in my mission. If I was a perfect man I would
have compelled conviction by the force of unchallengeable
Truth in me.' Then he added to show that he was not ungrate¬
ful, 'My visit has been well worth while for the lesson it has
taught me.' 'Those wonderful eyes' he repeated as if to him
self later on, 'how very frail and white he looked _Our Tagore
was equally impressive. In India we go m for the thing of he
spirited venerate our seers and poets but m thisgantry, rf I
may respectfully say so, you spend fortunes on educatn *>d
show contempt for the educated; you h.de your goodness

190

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

you are ashamed of it and your great people too, they pretend
that they are business men. Am I right?’

The next time I met G.B.S. he said: 'These Indians always
make us look small. I think if I had my birthplace to choose
again, it would be Ceylon. The people there seem to be the
original from which all the rest of us are only bad mass-
produced copies.’

G.B.S. has not a good voice on the telephone. He tends to
shout and to be on the defensive. He rang up and told me that
he wouldn’t be able to come along because he daren’t show
himself. He was suffering from Peripalperbal Ecchymosis. I
told him to have a hot bath immediately and then went to the
medical dictionary to find the two simple words which covered
his ailment completely: black eye. He had fallen against a
tree and had received a blow which would not have hurt a
boxer but in his case it was a bit of a shock. I was relieved to
find it was a retributive tree and not H. G. Wells, his sparring
partner. I had only to say H.G., and G.B.S. would spring into
position at once; these two giants agreed about nothing and
the world accepted their bickering as it accepted thunder and
lightning. This is not at all unusual among the great and suc¬
cessful. Keats tells us that Reynolds and Haydon were always
reporting and recriminating and parting for ever but we think
of them as inseparable: 'men should bear with one another:
there lives not the Man who may not be cut up, aye, lashed to
pieces on his weakest side. The best of men have but a portion
of good in them, a kind of spiritual yeast in their frames,
which creates the ferment of existence by which a man is pro¬
pelled to act and strive and buffet with Circumstance.’

’Wells teaches everything and never learns anything. People
who begin with a thought that man can achieve anything that
he sets his mind upon, invariably end with the delusion that
man is worthless and will never adiieve anything. Those scien¬
tifically-minded people have no self-control, they start with
destroying or torturing animals for the sake of humanity and

191

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

then end by destroying humanity to try out new inventions.’

Having rid himself of his complex we could now go on
with the pruning in his orchard. I noticed that he himself was
not too eager to exert himself and I wondered whether the fall
had really shaken him. He preferred reading all the books he
could get on the subject of fruit trees and suggested that if one
does the opposite, the result would be equally good. He be¬
came a watcher and talked.

'My tree needs pruning,' he said. 'It’s all branches, inter¬
twining, criss-crossing and there’s a lot of dead wood. One
day I must sit down and do a little radical pruning on my
own. I wrote about music, I wrote about art, I wrote about the
theatre, I wrote novels, I wrote plays, I preached at the City
Temple, I professed atheism, I was a funny man, I was a
dangerous man, I was an agitator, I was a Fabian, a vegetarian
and now I am a millionaire! All unconnected and uncollected
odds and ends. It is time I became an individual.’

The pruning will have to be very drastic in that case.

'Well, that is as it should be,’ he answered, with a twinkle
in his eye, 'then only a clothes-prop will be left!’

He was not in this happy mood long however.

'I am expecting a visitor,’ he said gloomily, 'she rang up to
say she wants to come. The trouble about her is that she lacks
the power of conversation but not the power of speech an
what is worse, she always insists on bringing a crowd to hear
her talk. The result is that I am dragged into this and I am

exhausted in the end.

'Have you forgotten how to say no?’

192

Chapter 21

THE GERMANS WERE AHEAD OF US SCIENTIFICALLY. FROM
secret bases on the Continent and obviously only from across
the Channel, came rockets, doing away with whole areas at a
time, causing people to disappear out of existence, not even
leaving a single trace for identification. There was no chance
of warning. The machine did its work. G.B.S. was quite
excited when he saw something come flying in the sky towards
us. He pointed upwards across the lawn and was sure it was a
rocket. But it diverted its course and went in a south-westerly
direction.

'It was a rocket,’ he insisted, ’it was not intended for me,
but I am sure it was a new kind of rocket! If they go on like
this London will disappear out of existence. It won’t matter
much because they’ll have to build a nice clean place. There is
no other way of getting rid of the slums. I tried my hardest
when I was on the vestry at St. Pancras to clear away the slums
but where I didn’t succeed the rocket will. I wasn't sufficiently
explosive it seems/

There are potential G.B.S. s living in those very slums/

‘Ah, well, one G.B.S. is enough for three hundred years.
Anyhow, these mute inglorious Shelleys and slum Tolstoys
should know better than to live in slums. They should insist
on Garden Cities. I was amused to hear the other day that
within a few years of the death of Saint Francis, two or three
of his friars were publicly burnt at Marseilles for adhering to
their Founder’s ideal of poverty. That’s what we should do to
the people who insist on being poor.’

I laughed almost against my will. I said:

Not all people have it in them to grow out of poverty by
sheer gravity, as in your case.’

193

DAYS \X ITH BERNARD SHAW

My books are read in slums far more than in Mayfair, which
is not a good thing for me, because one library book reaches a
thousand and that means that a thousand people read it for the
price of one. I made it easy for them at one time to get a whole
collection of my plays. The only condition I attached to the
purchase w-as that the man or woman had to be a regular
reader of the London paper which held the most extreme
views, that is, first making sure that, every morning, the
potential reader of my plays was fed with the same political
stuff as myself. The danger was that as it was a gift they would
read all my plays in one go, if at all, and then put it under the
leg of the piano or some piece of heavy furniture as a prop.
Even then, I think I would be of some use eventually because
I would bring down their most substantial edifice round about
my plays.’

'Those were the days when young men knocked at your
door and offered you a suite of furniture, a life insurance and
a trip to the other end of the world if only you would become
a regular reader of the particular newspaper! ’

'I hear that this book is most difficult to come by. One of
them went at fifteen guineas the other day. When the Daily
Herald announced that I would be thrown in with the regular
news, many people thought it not enough and asked for the
book to be autographed by me into the bargain. I had to
explain that my signature was already in the book and so was
my portrait, smiling and cute, just as the labour people like it,
to prove that I w'as not to be confused with the jabberwock
and the bandersnatch which I was supposed to be at the time.
Now that I have retired to Ayot I cannot prevent myself be¬
coming entirely fabulous. Why, the other day, I had to take
out my set of teeth to show a Chinese gentleman to prove that

I was not a dragon but simply a toothless old man.’

'I personally have never heard that a Loch Ness Monster
inhabits Ayot Saint Lawrence. ... On the whole, people here
think of you as a harmless, unobtrusive gentleman and as yo

notice they do not run away.’

194

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Yes, but my size and ferocity grow in proportion to dis¬
tance. When I die you will have your work cut out to prevent
G.B.S. becoming a myth. There is already a Saint Bernard, a
Saint George, a Saint Lawrence.’

We were now coming to the greenhouse. He pointed out,
as we entered it, an inscription I had never noticed before.
The letters, G.B.S. and C.F.S. engraved on the window-pane
of the door. Unfortunately the window was loose and there
was a crack in it.

I wanted to show you this,’ he said, because I would like
you to tell me whether you think it can be repaired. I am told
that one can get nothing done nowadays. Look at those cracks.
I do not wish this to be destroyed because it has Charlotte’s
initials as well as mine on it.’

G.B.S. asked me very shyly what would happen if he asked
my wife to paint his portrait. He said :

'She is the only artist who has not asked me to sit. All
others would jump at the opportunity.’

I said that the wisest thing would be for him to ask her
personally.

You see, he explained, Troubetskoy promised to do me

in half an hour and took half a year and as for Rodin, I had to

stay there for a whole month and even then he did not finish.

I got painted by John because I happened to be staying at Lady

Gregory’s in Coole when he was invited to come down. She

commissioned him to paint her grandchild and so got what she

really intended. When John painted, he took off his coat, put

the canvases on the best chairs and painted many at one sitting.

When he was dissatisfied he just washed off the whole canvas

clean and started another on the same canvas. He painted with

large brushes and used large quantities of paint. I was also

painted by Collier. He painted with a very long brush like a

broomstick, to keep well away from the canvas, and his wife

always came in to tell him what to do. He took her instruc¬
tions without question.’

G*

195

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

He did ask Clare if she would like him to sit.

'I will come and sit for you every day if you like, as long as
you can bear my company. I warn you that my repertory is very
limited and as soon as I start repeating myself, you will, no
doubt, not want to see me again. However, when will you start?’

He was surprised when he came to sit, that a large canvas

awaited him.

'This is a large canvas,' he said, ‘isn’t it waste? John only
did a few small canvases. I warn you that it will never be hung
in the Academy. Once, a portrait of mine was provisionally
accepted, but when the P.R.A. appeared on the scene and saw
it, he shouted: "Take that beaver out of the way! ”’

’ He was a born sitter. And he had obviously decided as to
what he wanted to go down to posterity. At the end of the
first sitting he thought the head already complete, though it

was but sketched in. .

'I am not as magnificent a figure, surely? It is a pity that 1

have always refused honours and degrees for I would look
well in academic robes. I have this in common with Quakers,
that I despise honours. It is enough that I am a Bernard Shaw
and that is the highest order of merit . O.M. just stands fo
Old Man and I am not that yet. Wells has a fondness
academic distinction. It is the boyhood in him, respecting the
professor and wanting to beat him at his own game .

'My son says that every young fellow while at school"
of being in a position of power, that is becoming a teacher and
that dream goes when serving in the army. Then you begin

think in terms of a brigadier-general , met

'T must be of the latter kind, G.B.b. said, ro

amuse the sitter, i gave , some .

him that each war demands its own approach and t t

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

when, next day, he appeared in his long Burberry, she was
only too glad to have that as an excuse to begin afresh. 'Will
this Burberry do?’ he asked humbly, 'I thought it would do as
my regalia. The knickerbockers made me look too boyish, as
though I had long grown out of my clothes and not worthy of
the Michelangelo head you have painted in. Here you will be
able to disguise my thin legs with folds. I spent the morning
looking for something worthy of your canvas but I could only
find this.’ He arranged the folds himself, held up his head
erect and his legs were almost completely hidden in the folds
of his Burberry. Everyday he assumed this pose and kept it
without effort, whiling away the time with lectures on high
finance, art and politics. He was now an Undershaft, Napoleon
and Gesar, all in one.

Clare would rather not talk while she worked and so was
only too glad to have a sitter who was willing to talk to the
world at large. Whether it was wet or fine, blazing with sun
or pouring with rain, he would come dressed in this heavy
mackintosh, tweed cap and gloves mudi the worse for wear.
Punctual to the minute, he was most businesslike, going
straight for the chair prepared for him and assuming the pose.
Though when in conversation he would sometimes forget, he
would soon return to the character he was enacting at the time.
Clare would often stop the sitting when she saw that he was
tired, but she had to pretend that it was she who needed a rest
because he would not admit fatigue.

'I may not live to come to-morrow,’ he said, 'so get as much
done as you can.’

’You will live to sit for another painting,’ Clare said.

'I shall never be painted again. I have no desire to sit for
anybody else now that you have painted me. I have a lovely
alcove in the dining-room, where I sit and this painting would
fit like a mural. As it is all going to the National Trust, let the
world know me at my ripest.’

19?

Chapter 22

THE LIFTING OF THE BLACKOUT MADE LITTLE DIFFERENCE

to Ayot Saint Lawrence. The war was not yet over but the
result was now fortunately a foregone conclusion. As there
were no lamps in the village, the change meant a vision of
warm homes. One villager actually suggested that a lamp
suitably placed and lit in the centre of the village would make
a suitable war memorial, but such a revolutionary proposal
needed consideration and that meant time. Besides there was
nobody here who could afford such an expensive innovation.

We enjoyed taking down the horrid blackout curtains and
left the windows uncovered as a mark of restored sanity. It
would not be long before peace would break out. Within a day
or two, however, the lights were taken for granted and not
even noticed. The realized dream has a way of losing its magic
with familiarity. When peace came at last it practically made
no difference. It is true that business people who tilled
London felt certain that their offices would still be standing
and the staff would not have disappeared out of existence over

the night or during the day. _

G.B S. came in on the day the Germans surrendered Th

heroism of the Second Front rarely came .n.o oar «
tion. It was too huge an event to reduce to words and to brmg

into the orbit of this secluded village.

He was sitting for his second portrait this time in a p
the writer and philosopher, his blue pad before h.m /
reflective and he changed every t.me into the dark

It is strange that we talked mainly about 8^

culture. Not that he was, hke many a writer, taKing

198

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

ing. He treasured his leisure and would not find himself
preoccupied with that which others could do equally well, if
not better. But that did not prevent him giving them the ful¬
lest advice. Food was going to be the world problem and if we
were not careful the world killer. We were going the wrong
way about everything and always had done. Because of the
extensive use of chemical fertilizers, the soil was being ex¬
hausted and the food grown had no nutritive value. He had
been trying to eat the wholemeal bread and vegetables and
they had no taste. This scientific nonsense has taken the taste
out of everything, he would assert, and that was why we were
all physically and nervously exhausted. The consequence of
abusing the soil was disease. This did not make any difference
to the methods adopted in his own garden; at the same time as
he theorized, he told us of the amount of money he was spend¬
ing on chemical fertilizers as required by his gardener.

I must say that the figures he quoted were most disturbing.
To him statistics were everything; ever since he had disputed
the value of figues with Karl Pearson, the famous biologist,
he regarded statistics as one of the major discoveries. ’Figures,’
he said, 'cannot lie as much as figures of speech. It is the
analogy which misleads, not the fact.’

Two hundred and fifty million acres in the United States of
America, that is more than sixty-one per cent of the total area
under crops, had their fertility completely lost or partially
destroyed. A very serious position in view of the world’s
dependence on America after the war. Almost everywhere the
same dismal story could be told. And this subject led to the
harnessing of the tides to make electricity.

'When these wretched scientists can make themselves use¬
ful, they go on grubbing for power in the coal mines. They do
not seem to know that our tides, almost unique in the world,
exist. What a cleaner place England would become. I know
that it is the fogs that attract the tourist but we can do without
the tourist if we can manage to survive our meals and our
winters. I suppose the people here are so convinced that they

199

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

have arrived at godliness because they have won the war, that
they won't even consider the next thing to it. It’s pure lack of
imagination, this desire for impure air and impure food.’

And this led to the question of eyeglasses. For here again
w e were going the wrong way about it. Seeing is an art and the
eyes of to-day were as exhausted as the soil because we were
relying on optical glass instead of being trained in the art of
seeing. Organisms like the soil and eyes must be provided
with the internal conditions most favourable to the exercise of
their own restorative powers. I had only just received a letter
from Aldous Huxley who had once been on the point of blind¬
ness, but through the practice of the art of seeing and natural
curative exercises had recovered sufficiently to dispense with
glasses and write with such a clear hand. 'I discovered early in
life that the sanction of authority was to be mistrusted. I even
left my window open and survived.’

'What would you have done,’ I asked, 'if open windows
were forbidden? As non-representative art was in Russia?
Would you have waited until you had converted the majority?

'The law is always wrong but I obey it all the same. If I
went to prison there would be no windows to open. The choice
is not between right and wrong but between one evil and

another.’

'Talking about prison,' I said, 'I was the other day at Bed¬
ford and saw two sumptuous memorials, one to John Bunyan
who wrote his Pilgrim’s Progress in Bedford Prison and the
other to Howard who prevented writing in prison as part of
his reforms. If sanitation is aesthetic then prisons should be
considered the most aesthetic institutions in the country. I had
to lecture at Pentonville Prison on your work somewhere
around 1930 and I shall never forget the clean, whitewashe
cells, the clean faces of the prisoners as they faced me m their
thousands, everything was silent and orderly; it was a living
death.' G.B.S. adjusted his glasses and laughed.

'My Joan was right in preferring the flames to life imprison¬
ment. I could never do without air and free movement.

200

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

And so we considered what would happen to a young
person who took Bernard Shaw at his word: that all property
is theft, that wealth can only come through the exploitation of
the worker, that incomes must be equal . . .

'I have never known a Shavian to alter his way of life in the
least! ’ G.B.S. said gloomily. 'I do not expect anybody to earn¬
out what I preach, I expect the very opposite. I would no more-

dream of-giving up his obscenities, or of-denying

himself his raw meat and cigarettes as I would expect that cat
to stop torturing mice. However, the first task of my idealist is
to make good in this world, that is to become a gentleman. A
gentleman is a man, more often a woman, who owes nothing
and leaves the world in debt to him. It is better to die a gentle¬
man than a martyr. A gentleman, you see, makes certain claims
for himself: for instance, that he shall be able to live a hand¬
some and dignified life, a life that will develop his faculties to
the utmost and place him in a respected and honourable posi¬
tion. In return, the gentleman is willing to do the utmost for
his country that he is capable of, and would scorn the idea of a
money value being put upon his services. I want to be
thoroughly used up before I die and I want to die gloriously
solvent, intellectually, morally and financially.’

I myself,’ I said, 'want to see this used-up world gloriously
solvent.’ He folded his arms and sat back smiling, assured of
himself.

'My advice to you is,’ he said decisively, ’do not stay too
long in contact with a world which is not a natural world but
an artificial world, created by a catastrophic convulsion called
war. You have to see children dying of starvation and not share
your food because you can only add to the general misery by
disabling yourself. That is not human nature; it is utterly
repugnant to it. You have to see morality reversed by hunger,
nothing can be less natural. You can learn nothing from it
except that it happens when war happens, just as drowning
happens in floods and scorching in fires. Keep a grip of this
and don’t let it overwork or starve you and you will come

201

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

through without losing your faith. Poetical vision will lead
you into a wrong relationship with life as it is reversed to-day,
and it is political capacity which will determine the course of
events.’

He found Clare working at a head in clay.

'When Rodin was doing my head he found the ears all
wrong in spite of his meticulous measuring with callipers, he
cut the ears off just like that,’ and he swept his hands like a
knife cutting air, and put new ears on without sentiment or
sensitivity. My ears have always been a trouble to sculptors
because they are not normal. My nurse must have lifted me by
the ears when she wanted me to do anything I did not want to

do.’

When I walked with him, he said: 'Clare must know my
face better than anybody in the w r orld. She should do a bust of
me and I will sit if she needs me. My Rodin is at the Royal
Academy of Dramatic Art, my Strobl is with the London
County Council. But all those were done in my nonage.

'My greatest happiness is to watch Clare at work,’ I said.

202

Chapter 23

1

ALL KINDS OF COMMUNITIES WERE SPRINGING UP, OF YOUNG
people determined not to be swallowed up in the routine of a
capitalist society with which they had no sympathy and which
denied them all opportunity and outlet. They were to live by
growing their own food, making their own things and work¬
ing in co-operation. Instead of being actuated by the profit
motive or becoming wage slaves they preferred the principle
as expounded by Prince Kropotkin in Mutual Aid. Aldous
Huxley was now the chief living exponent of this way of life
and himself was his chief disciple, quoting such heretics as
Jesus, Tolstoy and Gandhi. As Tolstoy himself put it: 'if the
arrangement of society is bad and a small number of people
have power over the majority and oppress it, every victory
over nature will inevitably serve only to increase that power
and that oppression. That is what is actually happening.’

When I showed this statement to G.B.S. he said it was so
true that it might have been made by himself.

The manifestos of these co-operatives were a mixture of
the Sermon on the Mount and Shaw’s Prefaces and all they
needed was a little capital to set them going; the purchase of a
suitable estate, no easy matter in these days of premiums,
inflated prices and building restrictions. They meant to prac¬
tise what others preached and had to fall back very often on
the man who proclaimed to the world that he was now a
millionaire. Little did they know that these letters were invari¬
ably thrown into the paper basket. I was with him when one
of these appeals arrived.

'All people are free,’ he said, 'to commit suicide. They can
do it en masse , as these young people propose to do, or they

203

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

can do it as individuals as Hitler has done and Goring will,
no doubt, do. A self-righteous company soon forgets its
righteousness and remembers only the self, becoming the
slaves of the cabbage and finding itself without the leisure to
recall why and the money to know how. In our desire for
liberty we all sympathize with the tramp and are even pre¬
pared to give him our tattered garments and leaking shoes,
but what if a man of self-respect wants to be free, wants to
wear his own clothes and shoes that fit, and to sleep in a bed,
supposing he is not as romantic as George Borrow and Robert
Louis Stevenson, then he has to fit into a system of society
which will provide him with these things if he is prepared to
do his share. The tramp wastes his leisure and is miserable and
these small communities will soon waste their treasure and

begin to quarrel. If it happens, as it had with one or two
communities, that there is a man in charge with a flair for
business, then the community knows prosperity in a capitalist
sense, having a host of text-driven slaves never worrying about
leisure or the ordinary decencies of life. In other words these
communities prosper under the rigid dictatorship of a Sunday-
school capitalist. When he dies, the community dies with him,
and becomes a backyard slum inhabited by illiterate savages
and the children not having had the benefit of a stable exist¬

ence grow up like wild cats.

‘If there is only one life to lead, why should not these
enthusiasts contribute their little bit by teaching us how well
men can live together? Living together is the problem of the
day: people are thrown together in factories and cities and
there is no community spirit to bind them together, ou
everything to keep out of an office and even sponged on your
mother and for all you knew you might have failed.

’I did not fail and that’s all there is to it In fart H a e
been the most saintary influence in the last bundled yea«.
Now coming back to Capitalism. Cap.tal.sm can only just f
itself as an economic principle on the express ground ttetfl
provides selfish motives for doing good. The fact is, an

204

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

it to the utmost advantage, rogues are often highly effective
persons of action, while these idealists are hopeless. There are
two ways only of avoiding the evil effects of Capitalism, one:
to do as I have done, become wealthy enough to be indepen¬
dent, and the other is to find an outlet for its frustrations in
successful agitation. Every capitalist knows that it is the social¬
ist who makes the best worker; dog-racing and football are
not enough.’

'It is obvious from what you say, that the primary object
of social organization is to create a wide public for your
work, and to make it easy for you to continue with your
work.’

'How an there be more than one primary object?’ G.B.S.
demanded.

’In England alone,’ I answered, 'there are more than forty
million primary objects.’

'You mean subjects, and that is an entirely different thing.

The vast majority have no objects. They just take what they

find for granted and strongly object to people like you and

me. If like T. E. Lawrence, a sensitive man if ever there was

one, they find themselves overwhelmed by the callousness and

treachery of the machine, then they an lose their identity in

the crowd and not think of themselves as separate egos. How

did Lawrence end his last days? By drugging himself with

speed, by doing sentry-go over petrol dumps. Never anything

worthwhile. And the little time he had left to himself he

collected Air Force obscenities which he published privately
in The Mint'

Once on the question of Lawrence, he forgot economics and
went into anecdotes. He said:

'A number of friends met at Martins Bank to consider a
memorial to Lawrence. One suggested that his face be arved
on the rocks of Arabia, but he had overlooked the fact, which
I had to point out to him, that the Moslems object strongly tc
the making of graven images. Then came the suggestion that
there was a certain book of which he had heard privately.

205

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

which could be published as a memorial to its author. He told
us that Lawrence had told him about this book on the under¬
standing that he was not to whisper a word about this to any¬
body else. Of course we soon discovered that Lawrence had
mentioned the book to each one of us on the same promise. I
had to show my copy to convince them that I, too, was in the
know. Lawrence had that habit of making each feel that he
alone was in his confidence. Need I say that the book sugges¬
ted was none other than The Mint ! ’

Standing on my lawn I saw in the distance, in the spinney
at the far end of the garden, a dark figure busily intent.
He seemed to be shifting things into the lane skirting the
garden.

He did it quite methodically and without hurry'. There was
his perambulator laden with sacks and as soon as he saw me
he moved towards me and at once started talking. He was a
thin man, upright, bearded and clothed in good quality clothes
which were in a very' sad state. He had slept the night in the
spinney and had already breakfasted in the true Stevenson
manner. He thought an explanation was necessary and so
started from first principles on a long philosophical discourse.
He expressed his belief in the all-kind sun, the Futurer as lie
called it, the Giver-of-light and warmth and food. The word
Futurer was new to me and when I asked him to exp ain 1 ,
he said, that -the sun worried like a mother about my fuM*.

your future/ He recited, he sang and made movements w, h

his hands as in a static dance. He told me that he was bom ■"
Dublin, he was not sure how long ago and refused o fit nto
humdrum life. 'I am a poet.' he said, if you know wha
is and a poet must be near to nature.' While he drank e •
and ate the sandwiches we brought out to hi^he talked wj h-
out ceasing as if he feared interruption. This isn t n^ ■
You should see Ireland. There's nothing in the^ ecn

It seemed that he had tried his hand at many th ng . had b
everywhere and had even 'had the grace to see the

206

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Chapel, which had transported me into the infinite glory of
the heavens and from then on I could not at all harness my¬
self to anything but the star.’

This he followed with a sad Irish song and then I left him.
But he followed me and would not let me go.

'I will wash soon,’ he assured me. T will wash in the water
along the ditch. Water is the substance of life, for we are all
mostly water.’

I went back to our house and later saw him carefully in¬
specting our garage and as carefully shutting the gate. He
walked off with his perambulator before him, singing to him¬
self and * little way off he stopped and bent down to collect
water from the ditch, filled with the night’s rain. Then he
knelt down, threw the water into his eyes again and again,
after which he lifted his hands to the sun and made move¬
ments. Then he passed out of my vision.

I described this visit to G.B.S., when he came along in the
late afternoon. He listened carefully, then said:

’Did he steal anything?’

'I have missed nothing as far as I can see,’ I answered.

'Never trust an Irishman with the gift of the gab. An
uncle of mine, who made it a rule to offer tramps a job when
they begged from him, naturally very soon became familiar
with every excuse that human ingenuity can invent for not
working. But he lost his temper only once; and that was with
a tramp who frankly replied that he was lazy. This my uncle
described with disgust as cynicism.’

I speculated as to who was getting more out of life at that
moment.

'Clive Brook,’ he continued, after a long pause, 'played the
respectable tramp in Gorki’s Lower Depths very well. That
was well before he became a film star and young Lawrence
Irving, Sir Henry Irving’s second son, w-as all out for down
and outs. There was a time when it was considered the thing
to romanticize poverty. The Russians were at the back of it,
Tolstoy, Dostoievsky and Gorki having lost faith in the rich,

207

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

fell back on the soul life of the poor. I, of course, put a stop
to all that. Starvation, overwork and dirt are as immoral as
prostitution and as unromantic. There is no security for even
the wealthiest while there is poverty.’

The man, 'once passing rich on forty pounds a year,” con¬
siders himself poor on four hundred, even if he has the wire¬
less, the cinema, free education, aeroplanes, electricity and a
motor car, all thrown in. The miracles of yesterday have be¬
come the necessities of to-day and are taken for granted as
such.

'And I want them to take leisure for granted. Nature may
abhor a vacuum, but man must work for it. Without leisure
there is no hope. It is the one thing we can say for capitalism,
that it has given a vast number of people time to play with. It
is obvious that very few of these people know what to do with
their leisure, but they will learn. It is something new that is
coming into the world. The future is in the hands of the
leisured worker. Many of us are for the moment very like a
pedestrian converted to motoring, who, instead of using his
machine to go twenty miles with less labour than he used to
walk a mile, proceeds to do a hundred miles, with the result
that the labour-saving contrivance acts as a means of working

one.

its user to exhaustion.’

But he had not come to talk about tramps and poverty. Out
of his pocket came a long document, beautifully typed.

'I have altered my Will. I want you both to sign this

'But we have already signed one!’ . .

'I shall probably write out another one when this is signed.
It is good fun, having a lot of money to throw about, the only
fun. Somebody came down the other day to plead with me to
give it all to artists and authors. But if you are unaccustomed
to money you only waste it. Shelley was a practical man be¬
cause he knew the value of money, but Sir Walter Scott an
Dostoievsky frittered fortunes away and only wrote beca
the creditors were waiting at the door. I will give “V
to accredited organizations and not to individuals. My mother

208

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

was embittered because she expected money to be left to her
and it didn’t happen and we all suffered for it.’

We signed the Will and he gathered it up with great satis¬
faction.

Let this be your last Will and don’t worry about finance
any more. Settle down to your new play. That would be your
greatest gift.’

'Even if I wrote another play it would deal with a Will. It is
of no use. I want to make my Will foolproof and prevent a
lot of litigation so that the cunning lawyers do not run away
with it all. The two institutions that have meant most to me
are the Dublin Art Gallery and the British Museum Reading
Room. A man of leisure is made rich by the presence of such
places. I was a poor boy then, but I had all the knowledge of
being rich because I could enjoy the treasures which only cul¬
tured people can enjoy if they want to. At the Dublin Art
Gallery I met A. E., the greatest of all Irishmen, who com¬
bined poetry and art with a good knowledge of practical
affairs and at the British Museum I met William Archer, who
set me writing plays. You should build a studio in your garden
and do as I have done, leave your house and studio to the
National Trust, so that the people who come here will have
the benefit that I have had.’

You mean as Watts did at Compton?’

Yes. AYOT should become a place of pilgrimage. One day

the whole district may be built up and a lot of prefabricated

houses and nissen huts will surround us. Let this place be an

island of art, so that people should have an anchorage. They
will need it.’

209

Chapter 24

AGAIN THE UNBOLTING AND THE DRAWING OF HEAVY

curtains, and because G.B.S. was dining, I waited in the draw¬
ing-room. I never liked this room. Though it had good pieces
of furniture, books, sculpture, paintings, it had no character.
The chairs all faced the fireplace, close together as if for a
lecture by their host. I knew that this was the room for visitors,
and the only occasion it was used was when visitors came.
Though there was a tall writing-desk, he never used it except
to be photographed writing, and it did not seem as though the
books were much handled by him. He came in apologizing for
making me wait in this room. 'I have never felt at home in this
room,’ fie said, 'though there are things here that I like very
much. This Balzac head by Rodin has always fascinated me
and the Troubetskoy of me in that full length is quite good,
but he has made me look a prince like himself, a tailor s
model. And I am not a tailor's paragon, because I button up
generally all the three buttons, when I should do up only the
centre button of my jacket. And besides I never have any

lining or superfluous pockets. It is of no use.

He saw my eye wandering upwards in the direction of

Charlotte's portrait by Sartorius.

'That's a good painting, done of Charlotte befo
her; when she permitted herself, almostaga.nstherwiMota
done by the person she thought the greatest painter of the day.
it s her green eyes that were so beautiful, even in Ireland I

have never seen such eyes. She loathed being

even by myself and those that I have were done by stealth.

have never known a person who so hated the hmeg^

It was obvious that she thought highly of Sartorius becau

210

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

there are quite a number of landscapes by him in the house,
pale, misty effects.

'My legs are giving me a lot of trouble,’ he said. 'I tripped

over the steps to-day. I don’t want you to make matters worse

by giving me a thousand explanations. It is a fact and that is
all there is to it.’

Turgenev asserted that when his sufferings were unendur¬
able he analysed his sensations and his agony departed for a
period. He insisted one should always do this even to make
happiness endurable.’

I ve been thinking,’ he said, ’that the only moments of hap¬
piness I have ever known have been in dream and it was
horrible to wake.’

'How different from the world conception of you.’

'} suffer from these false assumptions. The world is wrong
as it always is. I have found as you know that all the postulates
of science, medicine, politics, almost everything in fact, are
always wrong. I have done everything I should never have
done and have left undone all the things that are essential to
my survival and I am still alive and what is more, advanced
thinkers are coming round, after years and years of my teach¬
ing, to my outlook. It is good form now for Fellows of the
Royal Society to quote me in support of their views and the
listeners forget the views and remember the quotation.’

You have trained generation after generation in your way
of thinking. These Fellows imbibed your views while adoles¬
cents and all the orthodox teaching in the world could not
wipe out the first influences.’

I have been seventy years at it and the interesting thing is
that I am still the heretic. Even my earliest essays seem revolu¬
tionary compared to the poor stuff written now. There is no
class of person I have not shaken to the foundations. But none
the less I am tired. It is time I went. Show me the man who is
fit to take up my sword and I go/

This was not the first time he had spoken like this. And
though it depressed us beyond measure we had discovered that

211

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

the only way of dispersing this mood was to say something
which aroused fierce opposition and watch the mood burning
itself out in the fire of his denunciation . . . even if it was at
our expense. ' A couple has just been to see us,’ I said. 'They
are violently in love and want to marry. He is an Oxford man
and wants to give up studying and go in for writing, while
she works.’

He flung his head back 'Tell them not to. It is most unwise
for people in love to marry. I have myself loved one or two
women, but the thought of living with them and sharing the
everyday life would have driven me crazy and most likely
have made the women hate me. The two things don’t go to¬
gether and as to making a livingfrom writing while she works!
Better become a bookmaker. Then at least he could become a
patron of the Arts and be a respected citizen.’

'I cannot imagine people living together without the bond

of love,’ I said.

'You’re an uxorious monster. Marriage should be prohibited
to people in love. Marriage is a partnership of equals if you
like but let love come between them and all is lost.

'How can you talk like that when you have known the

Webbs?’ I asked. , , , , ,.. h

His voice changed, in his eyes entered a look of chi dish

worship. 'The Webbs,' he said, 'were different. There arc •

few such couples that occasionally come into the world but th

usual run of men and women can never ach.eve the same

height in the art of living. If all marrrages were as happy th

civilized life would be the consummation of all young peop

obtained through sexual orgasm.

212

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'It is a pity that they had no children. Do you think it would
have changed their life?’

‘We would have had authoritative works on education,
which we lack so much to-day. Both of them conscientiously
refrained from forming conclusions until they had investi¬
gated all the evidence and then they had to admit that after all
I was right, though I got there as an artist gets there and not
as a scientist. I always start from a single significant fact and
one is enough, and knowing all the time that I can go to docu¬
ments if necessary to prove my conclusions. The Webbs would
argue violently with me, so violently that often friends would
think that we were the greatest of enemies and would never
come together again. They would be amazed to see us talking
together in the most friendly fashion as if nothing had
happened. Of course we really agreed about most things. I
learnt everything from them, but what they got from me I
don’t know.’

He was gloriously happy now and laughing at the memory
of those very happy days. 'Did I ever tell you the story of our
visit to Paris? Sidney Webb and I dined at a little cafe and
Sidney teased the waitress by telling her that I was on the way
to Oberammergau to play Christ. She was most respectful
after that, especially as she did not notice that my other pro¬
file showed Judas Iscariot. By the way, Sidney spent most of
the day writing love letters to Beatrice and I am told he read
Rossetti’s poetry to her.’

I think it is our ignorance of the art of living together and

of the facts of marriage which are the main causes of disaster,’

I suggested.

There you are, running into explanation again, as if explan¬
ation can help anybody. The facts may be right but the
explanations are nearly always wrong because they have to be
in terms of our limited intelligence. Think of the explanations
that used to satisfy our ancestors. Even a child would see

now. Ellen Terry thought that when Watts
kissed her, she was going to have a child, and she was no fool,

213

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

for many a graduate of Oxford and Cambridge knew nothing
about birth or sex and many knew too much which is equally
bad. And as to dealing with servants, that’s an art in itself,
which I am learning late in life to my cost. Charlotte trusted
her servants, even though she knew that they would take
advantage of it. But they didn't, not to any great extent. I have
had a long life as far as present lives go, and when I look back,
I can’t think of many occasions when I have been overcheated.
I always allow a wide margin of deceit, I expect it and some¬
times I am pleasantly surprised. You-will find that whatever
these people take in theft, they treat as honest gains. A friend
of mine invented a contraption which would make it impos¬
sible for conductors of horse-buses to cheat in the collection of
fares. But what was the result? The conductors went on strike
because they could not live without the extras which they had
allowed themselves. There are people who think that they are
deceiving me, but I prefer to be innocent and treat them as

such, poor people.’

He walked with me to the gate, but it was so dark, that 1
saw him back again into the house. As we stood, looking at

the peaceful sky, I asked : . .

'Do you believe in the planetary law of distances in the

relation of people to one another?’ ,

'Most certainly. It is dangerous to get too close to people.

A world-famous philosopher came, sat down and talked
He said • 'The intellectual man cannot be satisfied wit

world of perpetual change, defeat and imperfection and must

substitute the society of ideas for that of things, o p

hem. i. . workl tf *“£'■ A ,I”“ ZL

be hell to him. There would be nothingto u P se f; ‘ ^

a doctor do without patients? An economist without porerty,

a dramatist without unhappy marriages. T

mess and therefore was a paradise for world-betterers.

214

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

The philosopher, being a polite gentleman with a long
experience of suffering fools gladly, told me that G.B.S. would
be long remembered as the seer who played with ideas as a
dog played with a bone and looked as if he enjoyed it. He
made people see that they were missing something by not
thinking. Why was it that Leonardo da Vinci had so little
influence upon Science while Galileo had so much? The
answer is that Galileo was always discussing his heterodox
ideas and results while Leonardo locked his up in notebooks.
Though Shaw s methods arc all wrong, they must be all wrong
because he leaps and laughs and turns into air as soon as you
think you ve got him. His mind runs to maxims and prin¬
ciples, as a plain man runs to pills and salts.’

Young men who have proved brave beyond compare, who
have endured pain and torture, have come all this way to
catch a nervous glimpse of him and have fled at his approach.’

‘Because even the brave know,’ he answered, 'that thinking
is the bravest of all activities. People will do anything to avoid
thought, even go to the very source of it to snatch a few epi¬
grams so that they shouldn’t have to think. Quotation is the
homage paid by the ignorant to wisdom. He has gone on
thinking all these years and has come out of it unscathed, with
the will to live strong within him.’ He gazed long at the por¬
trait of Bernard Shaw standing before him and for a long
time made no remark about it.

'Art is a closed book to me,’ he said at last. 'For me mathe¬
matics has always expressed the desire for aesthetic perfection.
And yet, the longer I have lived in the realms of pure thought,
the more ordinary has my life become. It is ages since I have
picked up a book of poetry or looked lovingly at a painting or
listened to a piece of music. My taste is probably shameful.
Leonardo da Vinci must have been the last of the integrated
lives but now we are all specialists and nothing leads any¬
where except to momentary forgetfulness.’

We sat in silence for I would not interrupt the flow of his
thoughts. He was still staring at the portrait and I sat facing

215

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

the windows from which I could see the tall elms. There they
stood beside their shadows, a great clump of generous branches
against a blue sky. In the shadows I could make out black cows
grazing and intensifying the silence of the scene.

Tell me,’ he turned to me suddenly, 'how I can get to
understand art?’

Here was a famous man of seventy-odd years, filled with a
sudden desire to enter a world about which he realized that he
knew nothing; standing with eyes wide open like a blind
soldier for one, with sight, to lead him across the road. I could
easily have provided him with the current verbology, but what
satisfaction would that have given him?

'If I may venture on advice,’ I said, 'there is no obligation
to manifest a colourless respect for the choice of dealers, whose
motives cannot always be aesthetic. Take a page out of Shaw s
criticism and go all out for the things you like and you may
ultimately be led to the things you now dislike. Art, like all
good things, is an acquired taste. That is why there are so few
Christians, vegetarians and country lovers. The thing is to
come across a work which you like, it may be Watt s Hope
and it might be Holman Hunt's "Light of the World, two
paintings that fill me with horror and it may be Pissarro or
Paul Klee. If I were asked the secret of Mr. Shaw’s abundant
curiosity, I would put it down to his aesthetic training.’ _

There was the loud rat tat tat tat which I knew to be G.B.S. s
knock. Through the glass door I saw him dressed in his Irish
cape and large cowboy hat. He left the hat outside on a chair
in the porch, leant his stick in the corner but came in with his
cape on. After being introduced to our visitor, G.B.S. turne

to his portrait and with twinkling eyes said:

There is Bernard Shaw,’ and pointing to himself, an

here is a weak imitation. People will remember
who sat for that painting. Alien Lane asked me t
autograph a book for his child and I wrote: when you grow
up, you will ask, or rather your child will ask you, who ,s th.s

Bernard Shaw?’

216

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

My visitor seemed embarrassed. Out of his pocket came The
Political What’s What, with a shy request for an autograph.

'Why do all these people,’ G.B.S. said, 'want me to spoil
the only clean unspoilt page in the book?’ But he sat down
beside the philosopher and wrote his name in the book.

I had a strange dream that I walked along the lane and be¬
fore each cottage sat the householder, smoking a long pipe.
All were strangely silent but very content that peace had come
at last. The continuous droning of the aeroplanes had stopped
and the fear of bombs and blasts had gone. Even G.B.S. sat
there in front of his gate on the very stool which always stood
m front of his fire, staring dumbly before him. I passed all of
them without thinking it necessary to greet them and I became
aware that though it was so still there were snowflakes falling.
They fell fast and covered the ground. I bent down to pick up
a handful and as I looked at them I saw that they were not the
usual snowflakes but pages and pages, innumerable, as though
all the books that were ever written, were falling fast
and silently around us. Yet no one moved or seemed aware

of the deluge of wisdom. A relief from all the tension at
last.

Now that peace has come,’ said G.B.S., ’I fear more than
anything a deluge of visitors. The war at least kept them at
bay, butnow they will all be wanting to cheer me in my lone¬
liness They are all convinced that I must be lonely. If thev
take that away from me they take away all. They can take any
hmg they like from me but not my loneliness. I have heard
Uus morning that somebody is coming to tea and at my invita-

of themVr 0 C ° U ^ y T' InCa ’ C ° me aIon S and hel P me S et rid

1TI S “ 1 ™ <»«*

al ° ng a ~ Ut half 'P ast five - That will be quite long
enough for me That’s as much as I can stand of company

nowadays,’he added. «>mpany

217

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

I did come and noticed that the more boring and common¬
place he behaved, the more the visitor worshipped him.

'I didn’t know that you would be so nice,’ she gushed. 'I
have always had the impression that you were a real tiger and
nothing but bones are left in the end.’

G.B.S. had mistaken her for someone else and had agreed
to receive her. Her name was identical.

’You are a wonderful man,’ she said, 'wonderful. I have
known you in spirit for forty years and when war stopped I
said to myself, I shall give myself a treat. I’ll go and see
George Bernard Shaw, and here I am. My friends told me that
it would be hopeless, but won’t I have something to tell them!
She looked round with wide-open eyes, not curiously, but with
a desire to take in everything for future conversation. She was
a plump lady and very happy with life.

'I wish you would have a cup of tea, Mr. Shaw, I don t like-

having some on my own without you joining in.

G.B.S. cut a piece of cake for himself and ate it very slowly.

’It must have been horrid for you here in winter. You
should spend your winter, now that war is over, in South
Africa.’ G.B.S. yawned and I realized that this was the first

time I had ever seen him do it.

'Have you ever been to South Africa? he asked.

'I’d be scared of the lions,’ she roared.

'They'd probably be scared of you,' G.B.S. suggeste .

■Me? I wouldn't hurt a fly. There's nothing scared of me.
And I know. If ever you're hard up for a subject for a^pUy,
I’ll tell you tons of things about what s happening
me. Men leaving their wives because these arent up £**
dard, what they dreamt about and wives just

their love affairs. Women wanting to g g
as they did while their men were abroad. Oh, y •

G.B.S. looked quizzically at her.

Tell me, what made you write to me It ' s my

'I write to anybody whose name s P P , ves

hobby. Some go to first nights of a play and ho»l

218

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

hoarse at any celebrity. I started it when I was in a nursing
home and I’ve gone on since. I get to know all sorts I’d never
know. What’s the harm?’

She looked at the Rodin bust. 'Is that you?' she asked, but
without waiting for an answer she said: 'It’s not much like
you. You’ve got a lovely head. It reminds me of my father. He
was the image of you, might have been a twin brother. Not so
old, perhaps; he was seventy-eight when he died. Poor man.’

Here then was the first messenger of peace.

If we don’t go for a walk,’ G.B.S. pleaded, when the wait¬
ing taxi hurried her off at last, 'I'll die on the spot.’

'She went to a lot of expense to see you,’ I said. 'She had a
perm and a face lift and probably bought a new dress and
wasted all her coupons.’

What on earth do they do it for? I suppose I should have
made an effort to please her.’

G.B.S. was thoughtful.

She wasn’t at all bad-looking,’ he said, 'in fact, quite good-
looking.’

H

219

Chapter 25

THERE WAS GOING TO BE A GENERAL ELECTION ALONG THE

good old party lines and the men who had worked so well to¬
gether to save the world from disaster now rose to great
heights in mutual recrimination. Churchill was convinced that
Attlee wanted dearly to turn our country into a Gestapo-ridden
terror and Attlee assured us in tones of great sincerity that he
did not want us to return to the good old times of poverty,
disease and dirt. Here in this village there were no meetings
and no canvassing. It was taken for granted that all would
vote one way.

Shaw said : 'I once saw a real popular movement in London.
People were running excitedly through the streets. Everyone
who saw them doing it immediately joined in the rush. There
could be no doubt that it was literally a popular movement. I
ascertained afterwards that it was started by a runaway cow.
Most general elections are nothing but stampedes. The point
to remember is that peace is not only better than war but
infinitely more arduous.’

Walking along the lane one dark evening, a leaflet was
slipped into my hand by a passing stranger. When I looked at
it later in the light of a lamp I found a statement to the effect
that 'God is Love'.

This election must have been staged for G.B.S.’s delight.
He listened to these infants of sixty holding forth on the wire¬
less and he awarded marks for delivery, sense and sincerity.
Like all of us, he was particularly impressed by the quiet
dignity of Attlee’s address. 'It's not the first time,’ G.B.b.
said, 'that I have seen an accompanist become the solo player.
He will win because he sounds less of a politician than the

220

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

others. The wireless is a good thing because it discourages the
spell-binder and brings out the quiet, homely, sincere person
like myself. If there had been the wireless forty, fifty years
back, politics would have taken a different turn. Nothing
shows up more than sincerity on the wireless. I won’t say there
would have been no war because Labour was not interested in
foreign affairs in those days of misery. A foreigner like myself
had to jog them out of false sentiment into common sense.
Well, I’ve lived to see the paradox of yesterday become the
platitude of to-day. There must have been some intrinsic merit
in what I say because my sentences sound equally good on the
lips of Attlee, Eden, Bevin and Dalton. Years ago I went to a
play of mine where no less than three eminent politicians
appeared. As I entered, one of them turned to me trembling
with anxiety and asked with the deepest earnestness: "Has
Oxford won?” ’

On polling day we drove down with Shaw, along the
narrow winding lanes to the village school, two miles away,
where after depositing our ballot paper, we spent some time
inspecting the gravestones in the little church nearby. G.B.S.
said: I suppose they will plant hideous war memorials all
over the place. Ours in the village isn’t too bad. A sword,
carved on a cross sums it up nicely. We have very far to go
before both sword and cross are forgotten symbols. Even I still
talk about "handing the sword to him that shall succeed me in
my pilgrimage, and my courage to him that can get it.” *

'The Cross stands for that courage.’

‘No,’ he answered, ’it stands for the ignorance and bestiality
of the mob. But now that I have trained the people to be in
advance of their rulers, ail the leaders need fear is the humilia¬
tion of power and not the terror of the Cross.’ We drove back
to the village when not a soul was to be seen. He came down
to sit with us a while. Suddenly, as if continuing a line of
thought, he exclaimed:

To think that the Sistine Chapel was in danger! Better that
the whole human race were exterminated than such a work of

221

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

art. But from the sublime to the ridiculous for clothes are
ridiculous, you will agree. You have not remarked about my
new suit.’ We had certainly noticed his new suit and as it
looked exactly like all the others it was unnecessary to make
any comment. He continued :

The others have lasted me over thirty years and this is made
to last fifty. You will notice that it is unlined, like all my other
suits and it is made to stand much sitting. I want to announce
that I have found a local tailor, probably an ex-plumber and
that makes him all the more versatile. I myself find it easier to
settle down to another Back to Methuselah than to stitch a
button on my jacket.’

As a matter of fact, the button on his left knickerbocker
was already hanging loosely on a thread and it only needed a
light pull to dislodge it completely. He explained innocently
that one of his legs was thinner than the other and therefore
he had to shrink that part of the knickerbocker by dipping it
into cold water to contract it. It was an ingenious idea and

must have taken much time, first to conceive it and then to
carry it out. It was a stealthy operation but I know that he did
not succeed in keeping it entirely secret.

This tailor, of course, saves me a lot of money because
naturally he does not charge Bond Street prices. Were I to go
into Savile Row it would mean first a journey right down into
London, then probably a wait of six months or longer before
I could have the suit and then he would charge the price of a

work of art.’ . .

'Only munition workers who have been doing overtime g

to Bond Street tailors nowadays. These pay m treasury no •

A police inspector told me the other day that he ^ a ^°

with seven hundred pounds in ‘-^ry ^t s and notody

claimed it. The man who lost it probably didn t miss

or didn’t think it worth while to ^ la,m * em m for the

•Our rulers must learn to dress well. Im all out tor

democratic evening-suit and if I went ^ ^ejlwoul P
the Royal grev with a finicky pr.de of a Quaker.

222

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

discarded aristocrats and millionaires put on their boiler suits,
but the workers can only maintain power by holding fast to
fashion. Look how well the Bolsheviks look in their aristo¬
cratic garb; fashion and convention have already taken the
place of liberty and fraternity.’

'And you modelled your new suit on the one you had made
thirty years ago?’

'My uniform hasn’t changed a bit except that my pockets
are better lined. I hear that Wells is on the way to Golders
Green. He thinks that humanity has missed the bus but he
does not know that I am keeping the bus waiting a bit by
amusing the driver. How much longer I’ll be able to do it I
don’t know. It’s fun, great fun for the driver, but not for me.
We’ve had a long innings, both of us, the difference between
those who have been influenced by us and those who have not
is as the difference between two epochs. You know Wells in¬
sisted on a martyr’s crown by staying in London right through
the war, but this was denied him. He will, probably, die of a
gnat-bite like myself. How do you cope with gnats? I went to
the chemist yesterday and he gave me something which was to
save me from perdition. I have asked him to send you the
same. I found that the stuff I have been using only attracted
them all the more and they have determined to make my life
miserable. Every morning I start from scratch for they have
learnt from me how to.get beneath the skin and I suppose like
me they are harmless enough. What they find in me, I don’t
know, when there are so many juicy flesh-eaters of their own
kind they could have for the asking.’

I do not know how many works of art were destroyed in the
devastating World War and how many potential creators of
great works of art, but like the coming of the aconite, the
snowdrop and the crocus after a season of blizzards, the old
Masters showed again at the National Gallery. Michelangelo,
Rubens, Rembrandt, El Greco and Velazquez attracted great
crowds, mostly young people. I recalled how I felt after the

223

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

first World War, when after years from the things and people
that mattered most to me, I did not come back a disillusioned
man but sang:

/ am the man who heedless of the crowd
Stops long to watch a passing cloud;

I am the man who in the traffic maze
Veels he is held by warm sun rays;
l am the man who carries through the street
His child . that all may still seem sweet.

I am the man who lores the wind and rain
And laughs at the slow aeroplane;

I am the man whose heart and mind can soar
Beyond the stars through heaven's door;
/ am the man who meets God face to face
In everything, in every place.

I do not know in what mood the young people came back
from this war, and how they voted in the election, but I can
only judge from the crowds that flood the concert halls and
galleries and theatres, that there is something of an aesthetic
renaissance which may be stunned into impotency by the
economic blizzards which follow wars. The newspapers, ho
ever, were filled with photographs of Buchenwald, wdh
descriptions of the horrors of concentration camps and «
remains of vast populations they had deliberately destroyed

their gas chambers. * r n <; «aid

•They might have taken a photograph of me, &B5. **•

pointing to a particularly emaciated specimen. When the

Slings happen in other countries we get quite excited, but the

■ p°“’t - ‘i’SmSS.C

. , Mrk-to-back houses which still exist anu

ssssssSSs®

they called me every conceivable name, but I had gr

224

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

elephant’s hide impervious to vilification. In every factory, in
every street and in every school there is a dictator; the boss,
the landlord, the school-teacher are all incipient dictators and
I have always been on the side of the victim. They hated me
because I proved to them that it isn’t God that is at fault but
they themselves and that was an unpardonable reflection on
them.’

I mumbled unthinkingly that power always corrupts and
was met with a ready answer: 'If we are foolish enough to let
the foolish get the power into their hands what are we to
expect ? *

’Power,’ he said, 'does not corrupt men; fools, however, if
they get into a position of power, corrupt power. That is what
happened with Hitler in Germany.’

This jockeying for power. The cruelties inflicted on the
quiet and the meek, the visionary and the sensitive by these tin
gods was well known to me, but I also know those great souls
who grow sweeter and simpler with power given to them,
who withstand calumny, persecution and still remain incor¬
ruptible.

'When things look very black,’ G.B.S. said, 'it is well to
remember that public evils are not millionfold evils. What
you yourself can suffer is the utmost that can be suffered on
earth. If you starve to death you experience all the starvation
that has ever been or ever can be. If ten thousand others starve
with you, their suffering is not increased by a single pang;
their share in your fate does not make you ten thousand times
as hungry nor prolong your suffering ten thousand times. You
should not therefore be oppressed by the frightful sum of
human suffering. There is no sum. Two lean women are not
twice as lean as one nor two fat women twice as fat as one.
Poverty and pain are not cumulative and you must not let your
spirit be crushed by the fancy that it is. If you can stand the
suffering of one person you can fortify yourself with the
reflection that the suffering of millions is no worse. Do not let
your mind be disabled by excessive sympathy. At present

225

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

nobody can be healthy or happy or honourable; our standards
are low so that when we call ourselves so, we mean only that
we are not sick, nor crying, nor lying, nor stealing.’

'How can one,’ I asked, 'be disabled by excessive sympathy?
It seems to me that the condition of the defeated country will
demand all the sympathy we can muster.’

'You will not go about it in the right way if you are think¬
ing of philanthropy. What we need is the knowledge of the
fact and above all intellectual conscientiousness. People with
tendencies to insanity, instead of being given all the power,
should be prevented from entering politics which seems to
draw them like a magnet. If the world is to survive, and it
means to survive, it will have to take my advice sooner or
later. We can despair of democracy and trade unionism as we
have despaired of capitalism, without despairing of hum.in
nature, but you must bear in mind that people who talk good¬
ness are the very devil sometimes because when their goodness
hits on the wrong way, as it generally does, they go much
further along it and because they fail they become more ruth¬
less than the bad people.’

The results of the General Election came through and even
in this rural constituency of ours Labour was victorious. Let
Labour beware,' G.B.S. said, 'my advice to the new govern¬
ment is to adopt the Committee system which wo kedhso «
in local government when I was associated with it. We g
reminiscent, recalling days not so very '°ng ago whe^ sna
victory at a Guardians election was a mark of the com g
volutkin and when a hundred votes polled at a
election was nothing less than a moral WHe said. ^
my part I hate the poor and look forear ^ ® f ht

extermination. I do not want any uman' c h known was
U p as I was brought up, nor as any child I haae

br °judging by°the ultimate result, 1 should say, you were not
brought up too badly,' I suggested.

226

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'I don’t know. Without Lee I would have remained a bar¬
barian instead of the almost great man that I am now, almost
great because I am not the He-man of the popular imagina¬
tion, the man of romance. I am the typical suburban who goes
off to work every day, respectable, debt-paying and secretly
proud of the fact that my roses are the reddest in the road,
only in my case it happens to be plays and not roses. When¬
ever I am attacked it is suburbia that throws red roses at my
feet.’ This new-found enthusiasm for suburbia amused me.
He explained: ’It is the surburban vote that tipped the bal¬
ance, make no mistake about it. Respectability has triumphed
over the gay irresponsibility of the Tories. We shall now get
down to sinks and drains, the things that make up our existence.’

H*

227

Chapter 26

HE CAME IN DEPRESSED AND LOOKING VERY AGED. THE

news of the atom bomb startled the world and we were all
regaled with vivid accounts of mankind’s new plaything.
Japan was the privileged victim of the crowning glory of
science. Even G.B.S. was bereft of words. I said to him:

'We are afraid of adopting the straightforward precepts
of the Sermon on the Mount, but rush gaily into a world of
horror.’ The answer came quickly:

'If a world government is not established by agreement, it
will have to come in a more dangerous form, by one power
dominating the rest of the world and it won’t be England.
And now we will have to go on as if we are going to survive.
I must go on living because the Life Force is in desperate need
of an organ of intelligent consciousness and my brain, with all
its imperfections, is its most elaborate experiment in the evolu¬
tion of such an organ.'

As we walked along Ayot Saint Lawrence, it seemed only a
suburb, a helpless suburb of Hiroshima.

At Cambridge there exists a famous lectureship called the
Hulsean Lectureship. The founder ordered by his will that the
lecturer in any given year should discourse upon some one or
another of the attributes of God and that when these were
exhausted some other religious or moral subject should be
selected. I do not know if the attributes of God have yet been
exhausted, but it is a pity Bernard Shaw had not been invited
to deliver such a lecture. I know that he has not the academic
qualifications, but it is a subject on which he could throw some
light and probably discover one or two further attributes no

228

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

associated generally with the omnipotent power. He would
insist that the human race can no longer be divided into sinners
and righteous.

He would also prove that even God is amenable to argu¬
ment and would have cited many a precedent.

'Tolstoy wouldn’t hear of it,’ G.B.S. said, 'when I suggested
to him that the world might be one of God’s jokes and we must
try to make it a good joke instead of a bad one.’

'So, in spite of the atom bomb you still think the world one
of God’s jokes? You are endowing Him with the humour of a
young boy.’

'Yes, He has not grown up, this is only one of His experi¬
ments and there is no doubt He will soon discard it and try
His hand on something new. It will probably be some new
demoniacal contraption. Why on earth did He create the tooth¬
ache? I have only one tooth left and it insists on possessing
me body and soul.’

'Why not try Faith Healing? Give the good angel a chance
and not the demon.’

I am going to try the dentist first of all, otherwise I will
have to resort to reading my own plays because there is no
better healer. It is all very well for the world to have me to go
to, but what am I to do when I want a little fun?’

'Write another play. That is, if you still take us seriously.’

I write too slowly now. It will probably take me fifteen
years to do a thing which once took me as many months.’

Why not? You have the time. Everything is at your feet.’

The truth is that I don’t know what to write about. I get so
preoccupied with little things. I am always worried by letters
from people who want to ruin me, people who want to know
how to be vegetarians and still go on eating meat, people who
want me to advise them how to bring up their children, and
there is one letter I received from a girl who is asking me to
support her and her illegitimate child or some such request. I
really have no time to relax.’

You should get someone to answer these letters.’

229

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

'None of my people would know how to answer. No. I
must do it all myself.’

'Well, I suppose it is as amusing to read these letters as
reading fiction.’

'All the same I would even write a play if I knew I could
circumvent the dentist’s visit. I really don’t need any plot. ..
and I never think out beforehand what I am going to write.
You said everything is at my feet; well, let me tell you that
my feet are getting the best of me. I find I can’t walk at all. I
can just manage to come here and that is all. I must not let the
village see me like this because they will think I am drunk.’

Then he confessed that he had taken to drink in his old age.
He was having a cup of tea in the morning for breakfast because
he could not obtain the drink he had accustomed himself to
take.

His first request when he came in was to see Clare’s paint¬
ings. Someone had praised her work and he felt he must
follow it up. She was glad to show him her last study for a
large painting she was working on. He looked at it studiously
and then asked for the subject.

'Something you will not be interested in,’ Clare answered,
'it is a study for the Last Supper.’

'Oh! Then you must put me in as Christ. A bit too old per¬
haps, but I won’t object if you alter it a little.’

He criticized each figure and showed a knowledge of the
disciples and I have never seen him study a painting for so

long, except perhaps his own portrait.

'What happens to such paintings when they are completed.

lie asked

Clare laughed. 'I start another painting immediately.
'That’s what I do. I never wait until the managers ask or
my plays. The moment one is finished, I lose all interest m i
and never wish to see it again. Morris always said that the

artist should hide his paintings behind a curfcun. ^

•That was because he was more interested in textiles, Liar

said quietly.

230

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

You are wrong there. Morris was interested in everything,
from cathedrals to carpets. And when he saw a beautiful thing
he bought it first and asked the price afterwards and never
bargained, you know! He knew the value of everything and
didn’t care a cuss for the price.’

That,’ I answered, 'is just how art should be regarded. It
proves him the true art lover. He refused to be commercial in
his handling of beautiful things. How can one enjoy and
respect things you have haggled about? Especially if the artist
himself is the person you haggle with. Most artists would
rather give their work away than be placed in that position.’

That’s where you are wrong. An artist should know that
life is like a coin. You can only see one side at a time. When
the painting is finished he must become the business man and
sell his stuff where he can. It is of no use ignoring the com¬
mercial side. H. G. Wells always maintained that an artist
should have a few thousand a year to live on so that he can
have a life worthy of his position and also that he can himself
become a patron of the arts. But that income has to be achieved
as I have achieved a much greater one. An artist must sell, the
moment a painting is completed it becomes merchandise, at
the mercy of supply and demand. It is time that the artist
priced his work so that the chauffeur and the cook can see their
own portraits over the mantelshelf and instead of going to an
expensive court photographer can go to a modest artist who
would provide them with a work of art. The artist should
charge say five pounds for a head and twenty-five guineas for
a head and shoulders, including a smile.’ He had long worked
out a whole price list to be placed outside each studio as a
barber places his charges for all customers to see.

Then there must be tips-’I suggested.

'Tips? If the artist lives in Melbury Road or Fitzjohn’s
Avenue, then the prices can be trebled because there is a cer¬
tain life to keep up and also the client can meet important
people. The artists should get together like the gas workers
and the transport workers and thrash out a policy whidi will

231

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

give them at least security; I did this with the actors and
actresses and I did it with the authors and playwrights and
now someone will have to do it with the artists. It will prob¬
ably fall on me, as everything else does.’ We were not too
anxious to enter at this moment into the intricacies of finance,
especially as the 'Last Supper’ was not for sale.

'It looks to me,’ I said, hoping to dismiss the subject, 'that
an artist would have to paint three or four hundred works a
year all up to the standard worthy of your chauffeur and cook
to gain a livelihood which they would not consider sufficient
for themselves and so the artist would fall even more in their
estimation.’

'Because an artist is born with a talent, there is no reason
why he should be a snob. There is no snobbery more ridicu¬
lous than aesthetic snobbery. Do you remember the time when
the mere mention of Botticelli was an open sesame to the
most select, the most exclusive circles? Now it seems to be
Pissarro . .

I knew that he meant Picasso because we had shown him a
book on the Moderns and he had brushed them aside.

'Of course,’ he added, 'I never buy works of art and so can
talk to the artist instead of the artist trying to get rid of his
works on me. Charlotte liked beautiful things and so she
would lumber up the rooms with good pieces. I hope I am
not shocking you. All the old can do for the young is to shock

them and keep them up to date.’

Shaw put away his country attire, picked up his blue writing-

pad and drove off to London in his Rolls “<! *> r * f “ ^
made Whitehall Court the centre of inactivity. ^ °" ly
him once in London and when we told him that
returning to Ayot he almost pleaded with us to■ takhi
us. He recalled a visit to a Chinese temple and the soothing

effect it had on him. ,• » «vwhen

There is nothing like it in England ^ complained Whe

I was in Hong Kong I was entertained by Sir Robert g
232

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

who after lunch took me into his drawing-room, which was as
different from this as Bunyan from Shakespeare. It was really a
temple with an altar of Chinese vermilion and gold and
cushioned divan seats. Everything was in such perfect taste
that to sit there and look was to worship. I did not understand
a word of the service but I went out a new man, soothed and
serene. That's how it is, I suppose, that the Chinese can go on
fighting for ever and still retain their sense of humour.’ We
were standing on the balcony where by turning in a certain
direction one could feel oneself standing on Westminster
Bridge.

'Wordsworth,’ I said, 'found the same peace when looking
over that very bridge:

Never saw 1, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will;

Dear God! The very houses seem asleep:

And all that mighty heart is lying still! ‘

G.B.S. dismissed Wordsworth as irrelevant. He said:

'The fault with our own service is that the people under¬
stand too much and so are mystified. In every good Chinese
work of art there is this same central calm because age and not
youth is the centre of living.’

'I agree, the Greeks are to blame for this youth worship;
Hitler tried it and see where it has led his people.’

'In the West we feel ashamed of growing old, instead of
feeling proud. An easterner flatters you by saying that you
look older than your years, but you mustn’t dream of saying
such a thing to any lady you know here. You would soon have
the roof over your head come down about your ears. This
adoration of the youth has put a blight on human develop¬
ment and we think of the wise old man as a decrepit dodder¬
ing burden and young people shrink from contacting him.
Young people don’t like me. An Englishman thinks because
his country produces the best footballers in the world, there is

233

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

no need to appreciate philosophy and wit. He thinks that as he
has beaten the world at football, he need only take to things
intellectual for want of doing something better and he would
beat the world at that. Yeats thought that he combined both
the west and the east and so did Annie Besant, of course. I got
on very well with Yeats because he shed all his eastern affecta¬
tions when we two got together. Not having any tricks myself,
he soon saw, as everybody does in the end, that it is wiser
to be natural with me, for example I never heard Oscar Wilde
utter a smutty joke in my presence and Sir James Barrie never
talked cricket scores with me, knowing that I was more at
home with music scores. Unlike Wilde, Yeats could not spell
and had no sense of number. That is why his poetry went

wrong.’

'Einstein,’ I said, 'suffered from the same weakness. He had
no sense of number. He got a very great violinist to help him
in his playing. The violinist beat time, one, two, one two. But
Einstein did not play to his satisfaction. After trying many
times the violinist lost his patience: "I’ll tell you what is
wrong with you, Mr. Einstein, you can’t count. That s what
it is!” and having discovered the mathematician s weakness,

he went on with the teaching.’

'I always say,’ G.B.S. said, 'if you have a weakness, turn it

into a strength. You must never forget that people often nse
by their very weaknesses and vices, which they have tried ar
to hide. William Morris used to say: the Scots are all virtue,
I can’t stand them; the Irish are vicious, I love them.’

'He was obviously playing up to you,’ I said.

'Playing down, certainly down. He was a great man 1 ever
there was one. A great man is one whom you ^shnctively
believe. Hyndman, educated at Trinity College,’
and not at Oxford, like Morris, was the better talker o to
two and it was a pleasure to listen to him because one mstmc

tively disbelieved all he said.’ ,

’You were born in an age of giants. You were fortuna e.

'I don’t know,’ he answered. 'It is true that some of them

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

reached very' great heights. I have seen the Himalayas and I
have seen Popocatapetl and they have left me unmoved, in
fact, the Irish hills still seem higher to me. Anyhow it doesn’t
really matter what age one is born in: the description of a
great man in the Greek days would apply equally to a great
man of to-day. That is why my historic plays are so absorbing;
they are easy to write because the facts are a gift; all that has
to be done is to supply the ideas and the people personifying
the ideas.’

'A very- modest ambition, I agree.’

’I have never wanted to preach the worship of a great man
as Carlyle did; nor achieve greatness at the expense of others,
but I always did want, and still want, to put ideas into people’s
heads, so that they can conceive something better than them¬
selves and strive to bring it into existence. You talked of the
age into which I was born as a great age. I regard it as the
most villainous page of recorded history, redeemed only by
men like Morris and Tolstoy, Ibsen and Gorki, Zola and
Dickens. And the twentieth century is no better. We need
minds larger than those of villagers. I have been described as
a man laughing in the wilderness. That is correct enough, if
you accept me as preparing the way for better things.’

The war noises which we had all learnt to ignore for years
now, the warnings and the all-clears, the flight of planes and
the fall of bombs gave way at last to the sound of distant bells,
chiming with the wind in the trees and bringing the neigh¬
bouring villages into our homes. How near to the heart were
those bells. They never drew me into church but they con¬
verted the countryside into a holy place for me.

Even then we could not do without London. More and more
young people appeared upon the scene, but whatever they had
experienced they had little to say. Theirs was a stem look,
determined not to look back even if there was nothing to look
forward to. After all, the problems facing us were the old,
old problems, of food, of clothing, of housing and these were

235

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

il matter of chance. A rumour would go round that certain
things were to be obtained somewhere and soon a queue, a
weary, patient queue would form to await the purchase of a
simple necessity, and mostly a limited quantity and therefore
disappointment and frustration for many. In preventing the
world becoming fit for Neros, we did not even expect it, this
time, to prove fit for heroes. Perhaps the surest sign of peace
was the fact that at the nearest station to this village, instead
of six people scrambling for an only taxi, there were now six
taxis scrambling for one passenger. Were we returning to cut¬
throat competition? No. Planning had become the slogan of
the day, but it was planning to prevent economic disaster and
not to build a new Jerusalem. Victory simply meant a change
of focus: instead of concentrating on young men in the
heavens, we listened to old men talking politics. G.B.S. came
to report a village accident, there were petty wars nearer home
and he was asked to help. If he claimed that he was still too
young to deal with the world situation, he certainly did not
feel wise enough to tackle a little parochial problem nearer
home. He explained: 'I understand that the big house is now
being used as a hostel for girls who work at an aeroplane fac¬
tory. The aeroplane, in my humble opinion may well prove a
diabolical contraption, but that is not taking us any further.
The point is that draughtsmen refuse to mix with mechanics.
They will not share rooms, nor even mix in games. I have
been asked by the warden for advice and as you are an expert
in community matters I am prepared to pass on your advice as
my own and get the credit for being a man of the world. You
see, it is only a man of the world who can tackle village
problems, but the village mind can’t tackle world affairs. I
remember the opening of the village Institute here, but there
again, the classes wouldn’t mix; the housekeeper would not sit
down with the maid; there are subtle gradations. I can> remem-
ber one of my earliest experiences in life was my father fin •
ing me playing with a certain little boy in the street and telling
me I was not to play with that little boy, giving me to under-

236

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

stand that he was a very inferior and objectionable kind of
boy. I had not found him so. I asked the reason and my father
explained that his father kept a shop. I said to my father:

"Well, but you keep a mill.” Therefore my father pointed out
to me that he sold things wholesale, and that this little boy's
father sold tilings retail; and it was part of my duty and part
of my honour to regard that boy as inferior though he was a
more vigorous and larger boy than myself. I have always main¬
tained that equality is essential to good breeding, but unfor¬
tunately equality is incompatible with differences in income as
the people on the lower income level always tend to consider
themselves superior to those above them. I could have given
them each a copy of my Intelligent Woman’s Guide, but I
haven’t enough to go round. I gave the Warden my Political
What 3 s What as a nerve restorer because print has that effect
on illiterate people. I went down to talk to these girls. It was
a very trying half-hour. They knew nothing about me and I
could see that all the time they were making a gallant effort
to suppress their giggling. If they had laughed outright I
would not have minded because I am not unaccustomed to
laughter. But to see them regarding me with those knowing,
smiling eyes put me right out. I found myself giving them a
little lecture on biology, saying: Killing men did not matter
so much so long as women were left. We could keep the earth
populated with one per cent of the men. I said: there was
nothing meaner than to throw socially necessary work upon
others and then disparage it as unworthy and indelicate. I
begged of the mechanics not to look down on the draughts¬
men. I accepted the female as the superior sex and appealed to
her practical sense, her love of orderliness in the home to
grapple with the world problems which face the inexperienced
old and the village problems which face the experienced
young. My reception was frigid. I don’t think I increased the
sale of my books by one. To see if I could write, two or three
girls very politely asked me for my autograph, but I warned
them that the most intelligent men I know cannot even count

237

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

the number of noughts on their cheques and always sign their
names with a cross. These are the men you should be after,
they are worth getting, conquering and putting in their place.
I advised these good girls not to behave like victors squab¬
bling over their losses but as sensible women, living in
brotherly love.’

This story reminded me of a co-educational school built by
the County Council in a neighbouring town. The building
was one but the headmaster made the girls walk out of one
door and the boys out of another, they were not allowed to
play or to sit together and they prayed to the same God in
separate batches. How quickly we fall apart. G.B.S. said:

'One of the first things the new Government should do is
to introduce the coupled Vote. A good slogan would be: the
coupled Vote for all single-minded people. The next thing, of
course, should be an alphabet of forty-two letters. I am prob¬
ably the only single-minded person left. In the recent election
I gave my coupon to an Independent, a Communist and a
Labour man, and I daresay if a suitable Conservative had asked
me I would have given it to him as well.’

No, no, you wouldn’t be the Vicar of Bray, though )ou

live in the Rectory!’

'The Vicar of Bray has always been my favourite character.
G.B.S. fell into singing the song. He knew eveiy word of it
and insisted on singing it to the last verse. His voice was fresh
and buoyant and his accompanying gestures were so full o

fun that one had to join in. I said: , ,

'You should have sung this at the Hostel, median,c and
draughtsman would have forgotten their differences in their

new-found enthusiasm for the Vicar _ n

■I often get letters addressed to the Reverend Georg B.
Shaw. You can deceive people some of the time, but th y
ultimately discover your true vocation. As a Quaker wou

tomed to talking, my worship is .always "tatJUfdk ly ^
churches are empty, so I can slip in and commune

238

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

Life Force. As a professional morality-monger I am always
prepared to repair worn-out moralities. Remember, the objec¬
tion to all progress is that it is immoral, the church is in need
of more immorality.’

'Your qualifications are beyond dispute. Many years ago
you wrote: "who am I to be just?’’ and recently you wrote
again: men must learn to be kind and just to those whom
they very properly hate” and now you are even prepared to
rule out hate. You are coming on nicely.’

'Yes,’ he said, 'the first quality of capitalistic mankind is
quarrelsomeness. For that reason life is made lonely and diffi¬
cult in a thousand unnecessary ways. So few people are clever
and tactful and self-controlled enough to pick their way
through the world without giving or taking offence. The
whole social atmosphere is so impregnated with false pre¬
tences that the only man who is accused of falsehood and
corruption is the truth seeker. I rule out hate, certainly, but I
do not teach contentment. When older people preach content¬
ment you may be sure they are either thoughtless or hypo¬
critical.’

239

Chapter 27

AN IDEA HAD COME TO HIM AT LAST FOR A NEW PLAY! HE

asked to see the 'Last Supper’ again and again. He studied the
painting seriously and then he said: 'What if the central
figure is a man of wealth and very old? And all the other
people gather round to advisehim what to do with his money?’

We thought it a wonderful idea and would make an excel¬
lent play. We could already see that each suggestion in turn
would be proved futile.

'There will, of course, be no love interest?’ I said.

'Oh, I don’t know so much. On the strength of favours to
come there is many a man who can stand the presence of a
woman and many a woman prepared to tolerate the occasional
sight of a man. The joke will of course be, there is no such
thing as a wealthy person nowadays with income tax at nine¬
teen and six in the pound and fearful death duties.’

'But they will know that, surely?’

'People know nothing. That is why plays are popular and
the old, old story can be dished up again and again. It is
original thought to which they all object.’

'Haven’t you outgrown the desire to be original? I asked.

'I have never desired to be original,’ he answered, almost
hurt. He wanted to walk. We had come to the decision that if
he stopped walking h£ would be unable to walk at all. We
deliberately chose a path where we would not meet any people.
The lime trees were still humming with insect noises, heard
only when we stood dead still in the grove. Two men came to¬
wards us and though G.B.S. turned to avoid them, they came
forward so eagerly that there was no escape. They were two
German prisoners with great circles of blue cloth on their

240

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

brown uniforms and both carried sickle and slasher. They
stopped in front of us, put down their tools, took off their caps
and the older one spoke:

'As a youth it was my great ambition to see you in the flesh,
but how could that happen ? A war came, I was taken prisoner
after I had fought in many parts of the world, first in Holland,
then in France, in Africa, in Russia. I was taken prisoner and
sent first to America, then brought here to Scotland, to the
north of England and then I moved to Luton and here I am
meeting you in this quiet place. When I saw you coming to¬
wards us, I remarked that our Goethe mockingly called him¬
self the Child of the World, but you must be the Ancient of
the World.’

G.B.S. smiled childishly. 'Your English is good, I can sec.
because like all continentals you have read our good literature.
When an Englishman talks about German Literature, he
means Goethe and Heine, but when he talks about English
books, he means the usual detective and murder stories which
he takes to his bedside.' V

Both the Germans laughed and felt pleased and we passed
on.

'There is something I wanted to ask you and I wanted you
out of the house,’ he said, stopping and looking me in the eyes.
’I have been looking at the "Last Supper” of Clare’s very
closely and am convinced that she is the person to do the
sculpture of Saint Joan which I want in my garden. Do you
think that she would be willing to do it, say within a year, I
don’t even mind ten years? But I have no doubt that she is the
person to do it and I will not ask anybody else.’

'I think you know by now that Clare would not refuse you
anything you ask.’

'Good! I have something to look forward to. It will give
significance to my home at last. Really when you think of it,
there is nothing there to make people want to come and see it
when I leave it to the National Trust.’

241

Chapter 28

LOOKING THROUGH MY PAPERS I CAME ACROSS A LETTER
addressed to me by a distinguished author. It runs as follows:

If you were an actress, you would resent the assumption that
you must also be a woman of easy virtue; and if you were a police¬
man you would feel annoyed when everybody meeting you
instantly threw a measuring glance at your feet. Well, we all make
absurd assumptions about each other, and it is my particular lot to
suffer from the assumption that I share the typical tastes and
opinions of our intellectuals. Among these tastes, for example, is a
liking for the works of George Bernard Shaw, Bertrand Russell
and Aldous Huxley and among these opinions is a bias in favour

of democracy.

As a social reformer Bertrand Russell with his incapacity to
recognise any good in Christianity appears to me as an over-
intellectualized man who has never realized the might of amnia
instincts. To me, in fact, he is like someone walking into a jungle,
who assures everyone that tigers, however hungry, will notat lac
men because they must know how deplorable it is to eat human
bodies. And Aldous Huxley as l see him is an unimportant writer
because he is quite unable to think outside the conditions of a dis¬
illusioned and necessarily ephemeral period

Long before the war l used to declare that the best form

Government must be a benevolent dictatorship. I have watch

with delight the career of the Duce. I do not believe in an form

of democracy because 1 am sure that the Great Rejuvenator i a

Lht when he said: 'people do not want to be

country we cling to the doctrine that freedom ,s

desirable; but there were myriads of men who joint g
during the war, were thankful at last not to be free at all. The)

found that for the first time they could really enjoy themselves... •

I take down a book by Bertrand Russell and read.

'It is only a few rare and exceptional men who have that ’in
of ^towards mankind at large .ha, makes them unable to

242

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

endure patiently the general mass of evil and suffering, regard¬
less of relation it may have to their own lives. These few, driven
by sympathetic pain, will seek first in thought and then in
action for some way of escape, some new system of society by
which life may become richer, more full of joy and less full
of preventable evils than it is at present. ... A life lived in the
spirit, the spirit that aims at creating rather than possessing,
has a certain fundamental happiness of which it cannot be
wholly robbed by adverse circumstances. This is the way of life
recommended in the Gospels and by all the great teachers of
the world. . .

This from a person 'with an incapacity to see any good
in Christianity. And then I take down a book by Aldous
Huxley:

It is axiomatic that the end of human life is contemplation,
or the direct and the intuitive awareness of God; that action is
the means to that end; that a society is good to the extent that it
renders contemplation possible for its members. . . .'

This from a man 'who is quite unable to think outside
the conditions of a disillusioned and necessarily ephemeral
period.’ And I take down another book, this time by G.B.S.:

A man grows through the ages, he finds himself bolder by
the growth of his spirit (if I may name the unknown) and dares
more and more to love and trust instead of to fear and fight.
But his courage has other effects; he also raises himself from
mere consciousness to knowledge by daring more and more to
face facts and tell himself the truth. . .

What would happen, say, if I asked the great men in
science and literature, in music and art, in drama and in
philosophy, in economics and in political work, in fact in
almost every branch of life, what they honestly thought of
Bernard Shaw s contribution? It would be a worthy acknow¬
ledgment of Bernard Shaw s efforts to improve humanity. Of
course, I was warned with a very emphatic finger that no one
would be interested in such a book, nor would any person
contribute to it. So G.B.S. go was conceived.

I have become the father confessor of the whole world,’

243

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

lie said, as I sat with him by his fireside. Because I have
managed to amuse one or two people they now insist on mak¬
ing this thin stick of a body into a Nelson column of Agony.
They never try to amuse me. A reporter came the other day
and I was weak enough to grant him an interview, but he did
all the talking and I didn’t get a word in. I gave him permis¬
sion to publish the interview as long as he kept all he said out
of it. Generosity pays in the long run. There are many such
people who talk to me for five boring minutes and spend the
rest of their life condemning me. Nothing infuriates me more
than being praised for attributes I despise, though I don’t
mind being despised for qualities it has taken me years and
years to develop. In future I will demand that all journalists
submit the full text of the interview before I agree to let them
interview me. All this talk about my amazing vitality, my
extraordinary wit, my terrific capacity for hard work, my
radiant beauty must have been concocted in the village inn
over a liquid meal before the person had even ventured on my
doorstep.’

He showed me a few letters which he had received and
which he felt no desire to answer. When I looked through
them I wondered why he, an old man, was selected for this

burden. One of these read :

Deaf

6 You may have mil ten the words yourself at some time, certainly
you will have come across them: a soul in torment, but have you
ever been just that yourself?

I am a soul, not only in torment but so angry and desperate that
is is using even ounce of energy in me to fight off the urge to Ml
my children and myself. The whole thing is beating me. I neve
did care for sloppy sentiment and useless pity. It is sense t .
wisdom. That is why l am writing to you. 1 do n0 "!’ mk '
a saner man in the country than you. So l do not >

a kind soft-hearted and soft-headed man, but as a
who is eminently sane, knowledgeable and clever. My app
comes from the very depths of my soul. Adv.se me. Will you
the one man out of all the millions to help?

244

DAYS WITH BERNARD SHAW

When I had finished reading this letter, G.B.S. said:

'I have also received an sos from a poet whose suit had
caught on fire and he was now left without any clothes what¬
soever. No doubt consumed like myself by an inward fire! I
could remind him that the happiest man according to fable is
the man without a shirt to his back, especially in these days
when laundries are so impossible. I've never worn a so-called
shirt. I have helped a poet once before. I saw real merit in his
work and knowing that in this country of Shakespeare, Shelley
and Browning, no poet can hope to make a livelihood I gave
him a useful sum so that he could devote himself completely
to poetry and write the masterpiece I expected of him. Instead
of writing a poem which might have placed him among the
immortals he settled down to writing a popular play so that
he could pay me back tenfold. No one would touch the play
and in despair he committed suicide. As I don’t want to kill
off any others I can only save them by withholding all financial
assistance. Now, about the business of soul torment. Don’t
you think it is better expressed in Heartbreak House ? Surely
killing himself is only a matter for his own judgment. No¬
body can prevent him. If he is convinced that he is not worth
his salt, and an intolerable nuisance to himself and every one
else, it is a solution to be considered. But I would always
advise such people to put this off to the next day in case some¬
thing interesting turns up in the evening. But as to killing
children, it would be the act of a madman or a murderer. They
may have the happiest disposition, they may be born to great¬
ness : the children of good-for-nothings, Beethoven and Isaac
Newton for instance, have grown up to be geniuses. My own
father was a failure, only in his latest years (he was long lived)
could he be called happy. I am conceited enough to believe
that it is just as well that he did not kill me in a fit of low
spirits. Instead he did the more sensible thing, he relieved
himself by drinking occasionally, though it only made him
worse. You see this "soul torment” is not a philosophy, it is a
disease and usually cures itself after a time.’ He stopped

245

DAYS WITH B3RXARD SHAW

speaking and poked the ashes of the fire, seeking out pieces of
burning wood that were left, and then said:

Life, happy or unhappy, successful or unsuccessful, is extra¬
ordinarily interesting.’

246